thecapitol | Pull the Nail Out With Your Teeth [Closed]

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Pull the Nail Out With Your Teeth [Closed]

WHO| Jason, Swann and maybe Sinclair
WHAT| Jason got arrested for smacking Cassian around. He's spending a night in jail.
WHERE| Peacekeeper HQ Fancy Jail Annex
WHEN| After the Caesar Show
WARNINGS| Eh, just Jason being an asshole.

There are two jails that one can go to when arrested by the Peacekeepers, and the difference between them is like night and day. One is for persons suspected of treason, and the other is for incidents like the one Jason's found himself in: petty crimes, provoked assault, violence against anyone besides the government. Cassian, thankfully, doesn't count as a government, although Jason might argue at this point that they're just about as intelligent as each other.

Jason won't even be in this one fourteen hours. He'll be out by eight a.m. tomorrow. He's in a cush little cell for dynasty kids that he's sure half his childhood acquaintances ended up in at least once or twice in their teenage years as a drunk tank. Jacques is sitting on his lap and Jason's allowed to smoke, which he's been doing non-stop since he got here. The food is typical Capitol fair, a roast quail and some fish-egg soup with bread. He lets Jacques pick at it and stuff it in his ghoulish little face.

That doesn't make this any less humiliating, especially since there's no way in hell Jason's going to be able to afford the fine he'll have to pay to the Peacekeepers for their trouble. He's fairly sure if he tries to put it on credit his whole line will get canceled.

"You're allowed visitors, you know. They're here. You're not like one of those poor bastards down in Treason getting their skin whipped off right now," the custodian here says, before going to let the visitor in.

He hopes it's Swann, and than he feels guilty that his first thought is whether or not her father can make sure this doesn't make too big a dent in the news cycle.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For as much of a non-issue this is, in the grand scheme of things, Swann looks like she's been told that Jason is going to be Avoxed and then executed. Her face is swollen from crying, her eyes red and watery still.

She'd only seen the Peacekeepers dragging him away, after all, and it immediately triggered all her worst anxieties, her fear that Jason really would snap one day. It wasn't until Sinclair came along and explained over her bawling what had happened that she was able to calm down even a little bit.

Like going from a hurricane to a thunderstorm.

Swann click-clacks in, running in stilettos, until she reaches his cell. "Jason!"

"Swann," Jason says, sitting up on the cot in the cell. Even with the way the glass between them bleaches out her features a bit, she looks like a cherry tomato from crying. He feels his stomach clench.

(Jacques immediately bounds off Jason's lap to the glass, clawing at it and trying to offer the drumstick he's ripped off the quail with his little paws to Swann, chattering.)

Jason frowns. "You didn't need to panic over this. I'll be out by tomorrow. It won't even be a permanent mark on my record. Are you alright?"

What the fuck was Augustus Sinclair's life right now that he had to explain to a desperately crying Swann that Jason was fine, but he smacked the glitter right out of Cassian's face. Either way, he wasn't going to to let Swann drive under these conditions and took her on his car to this cage for Capitolites who drank too much or...well, here we are.

"You damn well better be outta here," there's poison in that drawl as the capitalist crossed his arms around his chest. He doesn't say that he helped Swann with the fines, he doesn't want Ilar to get enough rage for a heart attack at this point.

Somewhere, miles away in a mansion, Ilar Honeymead's what the hell sense is tingling.

Swann has her hands against the glass, though she looks over her shoulder when Sinclair enters the room. "Gus, don't be mad," she says, begs really, and it's quiet and sort of desperate, because she's still stuck in fight-or-flight mode, and it feels a bit like the room is spinning around her.

"I'm okay." She turns back to Jason and nods, sniffles, then crouches a little to touch her hand to the glass in front of Jacques for a moment. "Are you okay? Are you warm enough, did they give you enough food? Can Jacques stay or do I need to take him?"

"What's he got to be mad about?" Jason runs his hands through his hair and gets up off the bed so he can stand next to the glass, as close as he can get to Swann. "Jacques is supposed to stay with me tonight. It's fine here, it's all fine, if you forget I'm in a jail because of that pastel-colored idiot. He should be in here, not me, letting half the Tributes dress up for a traitor's display..."

He rests his forearm against the glass and then his head against that. "So I guess I won't be coming over tonight. What's he doing here?"

Sinclair let out a soft hmph sound and Swann's statement, "I'm not mad, Honey, I'm disappointed."

He then turned his head slightly towards Jason, "I'm here because your actions reached new lows an' watchin' out for her. You should know better by now that hittin' a fellow Capitolite," emphasis on fellow, "will land you in these walls. As stupid as Cassian's decision was, again, you should know better."

Because is totally how Gus and Swann want to spend their evening: visiting an overly aggressive escort with rage and mommy issues.

"Your fines have been dealt with so don't worry about that."

She listens to Augustus, looking over her shoulder at him, and nods a little, swiping idly at her eyes, just because they're still puffy and irritated. "Gus told me what happened, and he drove," she says, leaning forward with her hands back on the glass, peering up at Jason and sniffling. "I know... I know you're mad at him, but why didn't you just let the Peacekeepers deal with him? You could have called me instead."

Swann goes to Sinclair's side next, holding at his sleeve needily with both hands. "We paid, does he really have to stay the night? Can't you get them to let him go, Gus?"

The comment about the fines stings like a slap in the face, moreso than 'new lows', and Jason's face reddens. He feels his stomach clench at the idea that he's doing wrong by Swann, too, and when he looks at Gus his expression is purely murderous.

"I lost my temper. I thought we were all going to get hauled out and Avoxed over Cassian's stupidity, or at least Emily and the involved Tributes would." And it's less about protecting them than it is about a certain territorial need to defend the things that are his, and a woundedness at being unable to do even that.

"Thank you for the fines," he mutters, sounding anything but sincere, but at least he says it.

Sinclair simply raised an eyebrow at Jason's killer glare, as if to dare the man to come over and do something stupid here. Not that it wouldn't be out of the norm with what's happened but really?

"No can do Swann, he has to spend the night here unless this prison were to suddenly get overbooked," he explained with just enough concern towards Compson to sound real. He has a sneaking suspicious his weekly drink with Ilar will have to come q few days sooner than their usual. "Like he said, it's just a slap on the wrist an' I can have an employee escort him outta here without much fuss." The perks of being obscenely rich.

As for the jailbird in question, Gus shook his head, "Don't worry about it...just make sure it doesn't happen again." Especially towards Swann. He will calm the Honeymead patriarch soon enough.

Edited (Dammit autocorrect) 2015-09-23 17:21 (UTC)

Swann is so unused to hearing "no" that her reaction is almost exactly what one might expect: she tears up again, huffs and whimpers and stamps her feet while still clutching Gus's arm. She just can't see why Jason has to stay; sure, he assaulted someone, but it wasn't like it was someone important. The Bouchards are already a third-tier-name family, and Cassian's not even in their top ranks.

But her temper tantrum is momentary, and she goes back to Jason and Jacques at the glass, wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket (cropped, mint green mink with a huge golden bow for a closure, utterly ridiculous in a prison). "I'll... I'll talk to Daddy tonight then, before it can go everywhere, okay? There were reporters outside though, so I don't know how much we can cover up with them already knowing. But I can make sure there are no pictures, he can have them wrangled by the time you get out. Okay?"

Jason isn't so eager to get out, except for a sort of compulsive need to return to the house his mother died in which is currently being stymied. The fees were the greatest concern, and the media coverage,

Hell. In the last few weeks his mother's died of an aneurysm, his best friend was outed as a traitor spy and went on the run, probably never to be seen again, and now his idiot coworker has accidentally enlisted Jason's charges in a seditious display on live television. Jason says to himself that he might as well get diagnosed with cancer, the way this month is going. He ought to make sure Swann's still getting regular periods, because that's all they need.

He doesn't have the energy for Swann's tantrum, her indignation. He's just tired.

"Sure. Sure, that sounds fine. It won't happen again." Jason sighs and takes a seat on the floor across from Swann. Absently, he pets Jacques' back. "And Cassian? What happened to him?"

"Hell if I know, ain't worth my time after that tasteless display," Gus shrugged, "I'll try to wrangle your district sponsors but goddammit."

This is less about Jason and more about Solution investors coming at Sinclair ready to skin him. "I'm damn sure he's going to get his ass handed to him, or his family gets reaped. Payback is a bitch and Cassian should have known better."

He doesn't mind Swann's temper tantrum, it's not like she'll rip his arm out. "Like nothing ever happened." Except an irate president, ticked off sponsors, Ilar on high alert and a black eye on a Bouchard. Swell.

Swann actually doesn't know how Cassian is, so she's at as much of a loss as Jason. It's only through Gus's explaining that she knows Jason really only got one or two hits in, although she wouldn't put it past Cassian to be lying in bed and moaning of a broken nose or something.

"Did neither of you see?" she asks, fumbling with the little purse dangling from a fine gold chain over her shoulder. It's shaped like an open rose, in rainbow colored crystals. "It's Aurelia, Cassian's cousin. She has to stand in as the Tribute from Three." She fishes a hanky out to dab at her eyes, kisses her hand and puts it on the glass before going to stand closer to Gus.

She looks up at him, sniffling. "She's the heir, you know. Maybe you should buy the Bouchards out, now that they don't have a successor."

"Get me a phone in this jail cell and I'll call the Sponsors. They'll know that this was in no way representative of the District or the staff's policies and that the Stylist in question is just an idiot, not a rebel." Jason rests his forehead against the glass, then looks up sharply.

"They're sending in a Capitolite?" Jason says, and he blanches slightly. In seventy-seven years of Hunger Games, no Capitol Citizen has ever participated in the Games. Cecil Palmer only went in after his citizenship had been revoked. That they're doing so means that the lines between Districter and Capitolite are eroding, and in a world that vaunts that distinction as vital not just to identity but to rights, powers, worth, that's terrifying on a practical and existential level.

"It's not worth the investment right now, Swann...they're hemorrhaging money. Yeah, they are but let's be honest here, there had to be a punishment for the shit Cassian caused," Gus added without much feeling to the fear Jason felt. He didn't make any compunctions that this was breaking the norm but too often Capitolites think they can bend the rules as they saw fit. It didn't surprise Sinclair for that stunt, Snow would pull out a harsh sentence. He just didn't expect it to be...that close to home.

These are the moments that make people nervous, people whose place in the world isn't set in stone. Worth in Augustus' eyes came from their wealth and how productive they were. Useless people weren't tolerated in his circle.

He unconsciously allowed Swann to get closer, and looked Jason dead in the eye. "He made a fine mess but as soon as you're out, your sponsors will be waiting for you."

"For all we know, she was the only name in the bowl. It would only take them a few minutes to figure out who helped the kids. Doesn't matter how stupid Cassian is, that's a Bouchard debt to pay." It can be rationalized and explained, but it doesn't stop the unease rolling through the whole city. How many other families have debts? Think they got away with something? Have children that they'll start shipping out to distant family members in the Districts?

There'll be aftershocks to deal with.

Swann's tiny little hands flutter and it's clear that she doesn't know what to say, because Gus is right, Jason's going to be hurt for this through no fault of his own. "It'll be okay," she says, wringing her hands and starting to shake a little from nerves. "It'll... it has to be okay."

It's not even children, either, Jason thinks. They might as well start sending adults in, the way they have with Tributes. How would he survive in an Arena? How would Swann? The Capitol doesn't feel like a safe home anymore, hasn't for years, but now especially it's like a drawstring pulling tight around his neck.

"If either of you could let them know I'll give them a call first thing in the morning, I'd be much obliged. I have rapports with these people. They know I'm good for it."

Jacques bangs his paws on the glass wall to try and get to Swann.

"It'll all be okay, Swann."

"It'll be all right, Snow knows what he's doing," Sinclair assured both Swann and Jason though the lingering dread of Capitolites being sent into the Arena stuck to them like freshly poured tar, burning their skin. Honeymead would have no chance of survival, maybe Jason. Augustus did not like that the cracks in Snow's world were starting to make themselves known, and worse, right under his people's feet.

"I can get those in my sector, some more willing than others. Those that aren't...you'd best be ready to perform for an audience, Compson."

He was willing to let these two have their moment, Swann just needed to say the word and Augustus would be out the door.

She's at a loss, anxious and upset and scared all at once, and Swann can barely handle one of those emotions very well, let alone all three. Truth be told, she wants her father, wants to be consoled by someone who really can shed light and clarity on the situations, can explain it and comfort her.

Even as nice as it is, being in a jail isn't exactly helping her stress level.

"It'll be okay," she says again, nodding at Jason even as she stands sort of between the two men, and her voice is barely there, her eyes shining with that sort of distant look she gets when she's panicked, when she drifts into her useless, fawn-like defense method of curling up and hoping to not be found.

Jason can't even come find her with the glass separating them.

"Why wouldn't I be? If I couldn't perform on command, I'd be as terrible an Escort as the rest of them, present company excl- Swann?"

He tilts his head, then recognizes what's happening.

"Sinclair. Sinclair," Jason says, voice rising in urgency the second time. He watches Swann like a hawk does, noting every tremble, that distant expression on her face as if she's walked straight out of her body and left it to collapse in her wake.

"Get her home, and keep an EMT on hand. Not a whole ambulance, just a single person with some oxygen and medicine."

Gus isn't blind to the reaction and he nods at Jason as he sends a message for the EMT. It's no secret that Swann isn't fit to handle these sorts of situations. A rowdy Tribute? That's fine. An out-of-bounds bidder? Destroyed. But facing the prospect of fighting for their lives as Aurelia will be subjected to?

Hell no.

"Swann, sweetheart, this'll blow over an' Jason will be outta here first thing in the morning," he assured her as he put his jacket over her, the only shield he could physically offer her.

This is the moment that Augustus realized just how deep Jason and Swann's ties went...and he knows he's beat. Maybe it's been too long since he's been with a friend for longer than a few coffee dates, but to see these two born and bred Capitolites know each other that intimately, no money can buy that.

"I'll keep an eye on her over at her home. No way is she goin' to the Tribute Center." At least let Compson know where she is.

There's a jacket being put around her and she looks at Gus as if staring through him, like there's nothing behind her eyes except base reactions and animal fear, only enough to make her respond to basic stimuli and keep herself breathing.

they're putting us in it's not competition it's punishment what do we owe what have we done we're going to die there's no way out everything is falling down i can't breatheicantbreathe

She can hear them talking, muted like they're on the other side of the wall, and she glances between them hollowly, teetering in her heels and feeling like she might cave in on herself, like her lungs are withering away in her ribs while her heart swells to beat so powerfully that she shakes.

"Swann!" Jason says sharply. "Swann, I'm right here. Take slow breaths."

For all the times Jason's felt helpless as he watched Swann fall in on herself, perhaps now it's the worst. He presses his hand splayed to the glass, trying to look into her eyes and seeing nothing but those glassy marbles blindly swiveling in his direction.

He can only try and direct Sinclair like a clumsy paralyzed hand of his own.

"She needs her Avox," Jason says. "She needs to be home and with her Avox. Eta will know how to calm her down."

The teddybear analogy comes back in full force but then the fact that an Avox would know this is fascinating and dangerous. Any other Capitolite, Sinclair would be more than willing to out them and have their Avox executed, but dammit, not this one.

"Swann, sweetie, we're gettin' ya home. You heard Jason," he doesn't repeat the tidbit. He's ready to pull her away but not before they have their goodbyes. He guided Swann's hand towards the glass and on top of Compson's, to see if the cold glass could snap her out of the panic.

She doesn't say anything at all, just looks at Jason through the glass with empty eyes, looks at their hands pressed against each other but still not touching. It clicks somewhere in her mind that he can't leave, that they're going to be apart, and her legs tremble, threaten to give out under her.

alonealonealone gus can't meet eta what does it matter we're all going to die anyway

Her eyes well up and she peers back at Gus, blank but with a cognizance of what's going on around her, some dim flicker of awareness that she's going to be taken away. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but no words come out -- just a quiet sort of whimper that's almost stuck in her throat. There's a second where her knees try to buckle, where her will to remain upright blinks out, but she doesn't fall so much as quake uncontrollably and wobble in place like a newborn horse.

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