Spin Me 'Round Like a Child [Closed]

[yoknapatawpha]

WHO| Bayard Sartoris and Swann Honeymead
WHAT| Two cinnamon rolls go to the circus.
WHERE| Panem Zoo & Circus
WHEN| Backdated to before the Arena.
WARNINGS| None, just a cute platonic friend date.

With Beck's help, Bayard looks smart and put-together as he takes a car to go see Swann Honeymead at her home and escort her to the circus. He politely talks to the chauffeur, explaining that he's never been to a circus before, that he only saw advertisements for traveling shows that his Granny had said were much too vulgar for a boy his age. Well, he's near a man now, and he reckons he's old enough to see a show, even if it ain't traveling, especially if he has a lovely, gentle lady going with him to explain it all. The chauffeur is disinterested, but at least very polite about it.

He's well-aware that Swann's humoring him, but she does seem to enjoy spending time with him, and he thinks she's been awful tired and stressed lately. It shows on little body like hers, as if exhaustion is all the same size and stamping it onto a tiny person covers them up more than it would a big person. Bayard's heard through the grapevine that Swann's helping District Seven out and Bayard imagines that if he were from a District he might resent that, but since he's here with no stake in who among the poor gets the extra food he sees such an act of kindness as something admirable. He'd like to tell her such himself.

When the chauffeur drops him off, Bayard finds himself in front of a building he doesn't even have the ability to conceptualize as a home. He comes up through the parking lot, gives his name to security and rings the bell.

Comments

[cigne]

Swann greets him at the door with a hug when he rings, standing in the entranceway of her huge, spun-sugar home for a moment before she brings him in so that she can retrieve her jacket and purse. Like most Capitolites do, Swann has chosen to clothe herself thematically, in a dress that makes her actually look like a circus tent, held up stiff not just with petticoats and starch, but with some boning as well. Her striped heels don't make any noise on the cream colored carpet as she grabs a scarlet bolero jacket, embroidered with elephants and trimmed in fur.

"Are you ready to go?" she asks, smiling, reaching for his hand, her other clutching a purse shaped like a roaring lion, covered in crystals that match the ones on her tiny top hat, pinned securely into her hair. "We have really good seats, center ringside! We'll be able to see everything up close."

[yoknapatawpha]

"I reckon I ain't dressed right for this," Bayard says, caught off-guard again by the opulence of the Capitol. He feels as if he's got the circus right in front of him in beautiful prints across the front of her dress. It takes him a moment to even realize he's missing details beyond that - the elephant embroidery, the heels, the purse.

He holds his arm out to her. "I'm much obliged for you to take me to this, Miss Swann."

[cigne]

"You look wonderful," she assures him, taking his arm with a grin. It doesn't occur to her at all that she might be a spectacle to someone unused to Capitol flair, that most societies don't look and behave this way. Even Jason tends to look ostentatious when compared to some of the off-worlders -- many of them tend to dress like Districters.

She guides him back into the elevator to head to the garage. "It's my pleasure, Bayard. Really."

[yoknapatawpha]

"I hope so. I had the Stylist dress me in fineries. It wouldn't do to appear before an esteemed woman like yourself in any other way." In doing so, he's apologizing for the last few times she's seen him, in plain clothes aside from the jackets emblazoned with the logos of his Sponsors.

"I hope you'll still say so when the night is over!" he says. With pride, he hits the right button in the elevator.

[cigne]

Swann giggles, wrinkling her nose. "You don't have to dress up for me. I'm just like anyone else. But thank you for thinking so, you're such a gentleman." She kisses his cheek, then promptly wipes away the little red lipstick mark she leaves behind. "We're going to have an amazing time together."

[yoknapatawpha]

"I'd dress proper for any lady with class," Bayard says, blushing when she kisses his cheek, his pink skin obscuring that mark as she rubs it away. "My Granny would be proud to hear you think I'm a gentleman. She says I'm at that age where I just have to tame all the ruffian out of me."

Bayard's grin always widens when the elevator doors open. It's a little miracle, them moving as if by will instead of push.

"I had a car ordered. They should be waiting for us."

[cigne]

"I don't think you have any ruffian in you to tame! Certainly less than the men in my District, and they're grown-ups." She steps out of the elevator, still holding his elbow, and heads toward the chauffeur area, where there is indeed a car waiting. The driver opens the car door and Swann gets in, crossing her legs as she waits for Bayard.

[yoknapatawpha]

Bayard moves as quickly as he can to hold the car door open for her, trying to do for her as any gentleman would do for a woman getting into a carriage, as he would for Granny climbing into a wagon.

"I certainly hope I don't! Maybe I've done an awful lot of growing since I was brought here. I'd owe thanks to you and Miss Tabris and Miss Beck, I think."

[cigne]

He's precious, scrambling to grab the door, and she almost laughs just because it's so cute. She can only beam at him once he's in the car and they set off, towards the outer edge of the city, where there's room to set up a circus of the size and decadence that Capitolites demand.

"You don't owe me a thing, Bayard. Besides, I met you right after you came out of the Arena and you were already a gentleman."

[yoknapatawpha]

"That's not so. If I were, I reckon I'd be doing a little better at that school we're at. I'm not supposed to climb on things or stay out late past recess, but I do sometimes anyway."

But he blushes, sitting down next to her in the back of the car with a grin that goes ear to ear.

"What animal are you most excited to see? I want to see an elephant. I hear in the Indies people ride elephants into battle."

[cigne]

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. "No, those things are just part of childhood. As long as you try your hardest and obey the teacher, that's the important thing."

Swann thinks about it for a moment, rolling her eyes up as she considers. "Elephants are good. I think I want to see a lion. Their manes are so big and pretty."

[yoknapatawpha]

"I am trying my hardest," Bayard says, tone dulling for a moment. It's just difficult for him, school. Most of the other kids seem well ahead of him, and meanwhile he struggles with the most basic math equations. It's only when they bring animals for the demonstrations that he seems at all an equal with his peers.

But it wouldn't do to bellyache when they're going to a nice show.

"Have you ever pet a lion? I'd bet a lady like you could wish for just the sight of one and you'd have a dozen suitors bringing whole herds of lions on leashes to your doorstep."

[cigne]

"I know you are," she answers, and it's a soft, nearly maternal tone, I don't expect perfection, just the best you can do. "And I bet the teacher knows too. Don't worry, all that matters in life is how hard you work, not that you always be the best at everything."

Which is a terribly easy thing for someone born into wealth, praised and adored purely because of her surname, to say.

She laughs a little and shakes her head. "No, I've never pet one, I would be too afraid it would bite my hand right off! Anyway, I never like a man who thinks they can win me over with presents. Or lions. I just like people who are nice to me, and honest."

[yoknapatawpha]

"I know. It's just terrible, you know, always having to catch up when it comes easy to everyone else." He sighs. "I'm showering myself with pity right now. I should stop. School ain't your fault or business."

Bayard, too, was born into wealth and adoration - but the war took that, the nature of his sparse homeland which could never provide the luxury of the Capitol without a hundred years of technological advances and then some. He knows entitlement, but not indulgence.

"Then I promise to always be kind and honest to you, Miss Honeymead."

[cigne]

"Everything will work out," she says firmly, nodding, and she knows that he'll learn math and everything else eventually, because why wouldn't he? Surely someone would be hired to tutor him if he didn't pick it up on his own.

Swann beams and leans over to kiss Bayard's cheek, delicate and careful so she doesn't leave a lipstick stain. "I promise the same, Mr. Bayard. We should be kind and honest together, not just one way."

[yoknapatawpha]

"Yes." He believes her. He believes her because he's still at that age where adults are infallible in their wisdom if not in their authority. He can see already that Swann doesn't have it all figured out, but he believes what she does know is ironclad.

He blushes at her kiss, and the flush of it would hide lipstick anyway. "I swear it, Miss Honeymead. Now, are we near there?"

[cigne]

"We are!"

The car stops not long after that, and the driver opens the door for them. They're at a red carpet, as if an event such as a circus demands something so ridiculous, and that leads to the kind of circus tent that seems to have sprung from a child's imagination. It has dozens of raised peaks and is made of red and yellow swirled satin that spans at least a football field's length. There are beautiful, painted women balanced on plastic balls at the entrance, and they smile and juggle clubs as an usher escorts them to their seats.

Swann takes her place in her enormous velvet recliner and grins at Bayard, reaching for his hand while Avoxes swarm in to give them sodas and kettle corn and cotton candy, among other treats. "Are you excited?!"

[yoknapatawpha]

"Damn," Bayard says softly, because he's still not over the novelty of getting to cuss without getting a paddling. He breathes it practically in blessing to this beautiful, insane tower of fantasy before him. "I am."

Even in Panem, he's never seen anything quite like this. He clutches Swann's hand as they walk through, feeling more inadequate and childish than he imagined he could have before. He sits and absently paws at the kettle corn, but doesn't eat it yet.

"Are those crocodiles they've got down there in the ring?"

[cigne]

She giggles and kicks her feet, because like most chairs, this one is raised up too high for her toes to do more than skim the ground. Taking a sip of soda, Swann leans forward a bit to inspect the animals on display.

"Hmm, I think they're alligators. Alligators have wide noses, crocodiles have those long, skinny snouts," she announces, squinting. The alligators have been painted beautifully and adorned with jewels, and a pair of daredevils are sticking their heads and limbs in the alligators' mouths, the wide open jaws. The crowd cheers each time an arm or neck is revealed to not be snapped off and devoured.

[yoknapatawpha]

"I hope no one loses their head," Bayard says, both awed and a little concerned. He hasn't been in the Capitol long enough to really absorb that all animals here are tame. All the animals he's been raised around are either wild or only domesticated so far as their owner can command them. He winces when someone puts their whole arm down the alligator's throat.

"Would you like me to buy you a souvenir, Miss Honeymead?"

[cigne]

"I'm sure it's safe. They've probably practiced for years." Swann, on the other hand, simply buys into the story that they're dangerous animals, because it's a better narrative, and because there's never been a reason for her to suspect otherwise. If someone wanted to be around tame animals, wouldn't they just buy some?

She beams at him, cocking her head a little bit. "Oh, don't worry about spending your money on me, Mr. Sartoris! But I promise that if I see something I like, I'll let you know."

After all this time, she knows him well enough to know she'd offend him if she outright rejected the offer. Bayard isn't so different from many Capitol boys and men, honestly, at least in the way they treat women. It makes it easier for her to interact with him, because she already understands the ground rules.

[yoknapatawpha]

"It's only proper that a gentleman treats a lady to whatever she wants, Miss Honeymead, no matter how much wealth she's sitting on."

Every time Swann talks to Bayard, he has a tendency to flush a little. It's the idea of playing at this adulthood, of performing as the proper young man courting a beautiful lady with no expectation, in such a paradise as this circus. He feels the same thrill as when he rides his father's horse. It's as if he's peeking just above the garden wall of his youth.

[cigne]

"Well then, how can I say no? I'll speak up as soon as I want something."

He's so sweet, like she always imagined boys would be when she was his age, but she wasn't pretty yet. She was still tiny and shy, scared of them all, and then when she hit puberty and grew a spine, they weren't sweet, at least not really. They only wanted things.

The music changes and the lights move, and Swann points towards the ceiling of the tent, where trapeze artists, dressed to look like glamorous birds, are taking their marks.

[yoknapatawpha]

"Be sure you do. I'd be happy to give you a token of the evening," he says, dollishly innocent of what most men grow up to be like, that so often these tokens come with attached expectations.

"Oh, golly!" Bayard gasps as he looks up and sees the trapeze artists. From where he is, they seem like whirlwinds of rhinestones and feathers as they drop into angels, gazelles, crucifixes, paperclips, amazon holds. One swings to the other and they seem to hang by the strength of one's neck alone. "Are they even people?"

[cigne]

"Uh-huh," she giggles, though she's just as transfixed as he is. "They go all through the Districts and find the most talented Districters for shows like this. Dancers and stuff, and people who work with animals. Then they get to do this for a living, and they make money and have a good life."

Swann severely overestimates how well the performers are treated, though she's probably right in assuming that it's a better job than slaving in a field or a factory.