[Closed]

[conifer]

Who| Cyrus Reagan and Emily Finch
What| Cyrus makes Emily an offer she can't refuse: Capitol citizenship
Where| Lux 4
When| A couple of days after the Tribute Parade
Warnings/Notes| Brief mention of bidding in the starter, will update as necessary


She's not sure what to make of the invitation. Her brief dealings with Cyrus Reagan had been as pleasant as it was possible to be between a District Victor and one of Snow's top Ministers, but aside from her mandatory speech to the Youth Programme and the broadcast she'd made while trying to smooth over yet another of Jason's messes, Emily had tried her best to keep her head down and stay out of trouble. So much of her life in the Capitol was grinding her down day by day, between the nightmares that brought her straight back to her Arena and the riot in her District along with its aftermath, the daily terror of not knowing whether she'd have to spend that evening offering her body to the highest bidder, and now having to face once more standing by helpless as a child from her District is sent off to die for the entertainment of the Capitol. But as much as she loathes it, there's something she fears far more: the anarchy that would surely erupt if the unfounded whispers of rebellion proved true.

She peers nervously around the doorway, dressed rather simply compared to the majority of the Capitolite diners at the exquisitely fancy location Cyrus has chosen for whatever he has to tell her. She's sure that if it was bad news then he wouldn't have gone to such expense, and that makes her wonder if he's bid on her, though that doesn't sit right with what little she knows of him. As she spots him and heads over to their table, she gazes around the underwater finery of Lux 4 with enchantment in her eyes, remembering the depiction of District 4 at Stephen's party and Quintus' descriptions of the seaside. Seeing the tropical marine life pass by overhead was even more wonderful than she'd imagined it would be.

"Good evening, Mr Reagan," she says somewhat stiffly and nervously, hovering behind the chair for a moment until she realises that it really is all right for her to seat herself opposite him. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long."

Comments

[currupted]

Cyrus, by contrast, is at his ease. There's a bottle of wine already on the table, and a plate of bread imported from District Nine between the two plates, soft and still warm. He's leaning back in his chair when Emily comes in, his communicator silent and stowed for once, head tipped back to watch a big, slow-moving fish drift by beside him.

He sits up when he sees her approaching. By the time she reaches the table, he's standing up to greet her, extending a hand to take hers briefly, smiling with exactly the appropriate amount of warmth. His suit is deep green, pinned high on one shoulder with a brooch of gold laurels. (District Eight and District One, respectively.)

"Not at all," he says, and sits down across from her, waiting for her to sit first. "I needed to make sure they didn't give away our table." A brief grin, because that would never actually happen.

His manner is polite, but... informal, almost. More than he ever allows himself to be in the Tribute Center or on the network, anyway. "Please. Make yourself comfortable." He reaches for the wine bottle, resting a hand on the neck but not lifting it up yet, and looking at her questioningly: Shall I pour--?

Cyrus likes meeting Districters in places like this, truth be told. He likes the Capitol best when it's impressive; he likes Districters best when they're impressed. Requests, offers, commands-- they all feel more generous in places like this.

[conifer]

Emily crosses one leg over the other as she sits down, resting her hands on her knees so they're hidden, knowing that the way she's pressing her fingers together so they're turning almost white would be a dead give away of just how nervous she is. Even though she knows she has no chance of holding her own against one so powerful, she knows that she needs to keep up her dignified front, if all else fails her.

She nods as he moves to the wine, thinking it far too fancy for her own tastes but quite in keeping with the setting he's chosen.

"Thank you." She's not sure what else to say, really. She wants to ask him just why he's called her here, but she knows that it's not her place to demand that of him, and that he'll tell her in his own good time. "It was very generous of you to invite me here. I've never seen anything like it before."

[currupted]

"No?" He raises his eyebrows, surprised. "No one's treated you to this before? Really?" He shakes his head as he lifts the bottle, and speaks as he pours-- "I'd have thought someone would have taken you out into the Capitol proper before now."

He pours for himself, and sips-- lets the seconds drag on a little bit, lets the spaces between words hang lazy in the air between them. There's no reason to hurry. Taking this too quickly might give the impression that the Capitol is desperate; it might give the impression that Emily has more bargaining power than she does.

"Thank you for taking the time, though," he adds, as though she could have refused. "I hope I haven't taken you from anything too important--?"

He's settling into the angle from which he'll make his request. He has the luxury of time.

[conifer]

She shakes her head, her eyes following a ray glide along in the water behind Cyrus. It was easier than looking at him the whole time, making her feel a little calmer. "I've been to Glacialis, and to Anomaly a couple of times, but..." She feels her cheeks burn in having to explain. "...they were in less pleasant circumstances." She hopes that's enough to imply the bidding process without either having to elaborate more or having gone too far in registering a discomfort about it. And yet again, she really hopes that's not what this evening is, under the formalities and the beautiful location.

"No, nothing that can't wait. It's rather quiet in Seven at the moment, I'm pleased to say." As quiet as it could be anyway, now that Jason was back and stomping around the place.

[currupted]

"What a relief to hear." That's the slightest bit dry-- it's plausibly deniable, but there's wry sympathy in the quirk of the corner of his mouth. If you think about it, Jason Compson bridges the gap between Capitolites and Districters in this way and no other - there is a unique commonality of experience among those who have had to deal with him before.

He gets the implication about bidding. It's what he was talking about, in a way-- she wouldn't have come here before by herself, after all. Someone would have taken her, if she'd come. It's a strange and backhanded compliment, coming from a Capitolite-- surprising, that no one forced you to come here before. Surprising, that no one wanted to.

Cyrus doesn't bid. He never has. But that doesn't mean they need to avoid the question entirely.

He pauses a second, and then goes on, more slowly, like he's being careful of his phrasing: "...Tell me, Emily-- and I do hope this isn't too personal-- how often do you find yourself in those circumstances?"

He's dropped his voice a little, out of courtesy-- the way you do when the topic turns to something unsavory. But there's no apology in the words-- he might hope it isn't too personal, but he doesn't mean to imply that he doesn't intend to hear the answer to that question.

[conifer]

Emily feels her stomach twist, and she looks down at her hands, unable to bring herself to meet his eyes in her self-loathing at even thinking about the topic. While she hadn't been bid on frequently since her return to the Capitol, it felt as though she lived in perpetual fear of the next time she'd be called upon. Then there were the inevitable bruises when she returned from those nights, and the visceral feeling of violation. No matter what else she thought of Jason, she'd be forever grateful to him for being the only person to ever try to soothe that.

She wasn't sure what was a safe reply. If she said it was often, would she be seen as complaining? If she reassured him it wasn't too often, would he make sure she was up for bidding more frequently? She still wasn't sure what the purpose of this meeting was, too, and worried that whatever answer she gave would have her treading on thin ice.

"More than I would like." She hates herself for hearing the shame creep into her tone. "I find it..." she pauses, trying to think of a word that's not too incendiary, biting her tongue to keep down her sentiment that it was degrading at best and traumatising at worst. She'd admit that to him if pressed, but she wanted to keep what little defense against both his prying and her own emotions that she feels she has here. "...It's more of a distraction from my duties as Mentor than I would like."

it might be way too late, but I'm down to come back to this if you are!

[currupted]

Diplomatic phrasing. Cyrus recognizes that there's a great deal she isn't saying-- that she wouldn't say to his face. That speaks well of her. It's rare, to find a Districter who really understands the need for discretion.

The Tributes these days-- they feel most powerful when they're complaining. A really clever Districter, someone born in Panem, appreciates the power in having a secret. In concealing something so deeply that even the Capitol cannot find it, and therefore cannot use it against you.

Cyrus can respect that. The knowledge has been valuable to him, as Minister of District Affairs. He hopes it will prove as valuable this evening.

"That's unfortunate," he says, with a frown that approximates real sympathy. "And it certainly runs contrary to the purpose of your Mentorship. Perhaps it was easier, back when you only had two Tributes to oversee, to make the time for your various..." He has to hunt for the word a moment. He finds bidders ugly. "...sponsors. But now, with so many..." He shakes his head.

"Tell me," he says, a little more quietly. The drop in volume brings the conversation in nearer, suggests that whatever she says next will be in conspiracy between them. "And tell me honestly. Would you opt out of the bidding system, if you could?"

also replying way too late, but happy to carry on if you don't mind!

[conifer]

Emily knows better than to give a completely honest answer, even when he demands one - or perhaps especially then. Her eyes drop to the tablecloth as she tries to banish the emotion from her face, knowing it's safer to act as though bidding was simply an inconvenience to her time which would be best used serving the Capitol through her Tributes, rather than the basic desire to be treated like a human being rather than a commodity, chattel to be bought by the highest bidder. She focuses on the immediate answer rather than the reasons why, glad that he hadn't asked for them.

"Were it solely up to me, Mr Reagan, it would be a great relief to opt out of it entirely."

[currupted]

"...Well," he says, and glances down at his menu, pulling himself back from the intensity of the previous question. "Unfortunately, it has never been easy to make exceptions for Victors, regardless of their circumstances or their dedication to the service of the Capitol." He doesn't need to know her reasons. He can guess at them, with more or less accuracy. The only thing that matters to him is that Emily want the bidding to stop-- want it enough to offer something in exchange for it.

His eyes flick up to her, and he says (his voice light and calm and cutting into the silence like a dart thrown):

"Of course-- Victors' rights are... rather limited, as all District rights must be." The emphasis on District is light, but unmistakable. "Relief, I suppose, is a benefit of citizenship."

[conifer]

"Certainly," Emily agrees, perhaps a little reluctantly. She hated having to specifically define Seven - and herself - as second class citizens, rather than letting the implication hang in the air. "It's perhaps even more important with Victors. With the lavish lifestyle the Capitol so generously allows us, it's vital to remind us that a line still exists."