Temple Stevens (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clotting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-11-03 02:14 pm
clotting) wrote in thecapitol2015-11-03 02:14 pm
Never Seen the Ocean, Never Seen the Tides [OPEN]
WHO| Temple and OPEN; Temple and Clint
WHAT| Temple hits the town and goes to a spa.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| All over the Capitol
WARNINGS| Temple, so mentions of rape may happen, although anything in-depth will get its own warning.
I. OPEN
When rabbits are cornered by predators, they freeze. Some theories say they go blind from fright, too terrified to even see the escapes before their noses. This would be an apt description for Temple's current state, with her best friend labeled a traitor and the Peacekeepers more than willing to drag her son into the political mess of Mentorhood, but the paralyzing, myopia-inducing fear only constricts her ability to think, not to party. Not to hit the town with a child leashed to an Avox or shopping bags laden with enough goods to dress an entire District for a week.
She's aggressively friendly if she meets you on the street, trailing her Avoxes behind her like a wedding train. Something about it is almost desperate, as if the doll-like facade that she so buries herself under is cracked and brittle and she's just trying to patch the leaks with her palms and her handshakes. She's liable to get your name wrong, since she's been drinking since six a.m. this morning, although these lapses in memory are the only indicator that she's that inebriated. Sometimes she just approaches people she knows and hands them a shopping bag of expensive wares, insisting that she was thinking of them as she was shopping and knew they had to have it. She does this especially to Tributes, although occasionally to other Staffers.
Sometimes she cruises the local restaurants and clubs eyeing up those she might be able to take to bed with her with no concerns, no witnesses. Few people know as many blind spots in the Capitol as Temple Stevens, adulterous to a fault but discrete enough to never have anything caught on tape. There are, of course, clips of her kissing, canoodling, placing her hands in places that daytime airings of the Games would censor, but never anything enough to terminate a marriage on principle. Besides, there are enough open marriages in the Capitol that no one ever bothers to truly look twice at a District hussy in Capitol clothes.
By the beginnings of most nights, she's bubbly, fashionable, charming and more than willing to buy friends and strangers alike a drink. By the end, she tends to be a bit more maudlin, still spending money haphazardly but less out of generosity and more as a prophylactic to feeling poor.
Find her for company, or she'll find you.
II. Clint
If there's a better cure for loneliness and sorrow than a fresh coat of paint, Temple doesn't know what it is. She doesn't believe in the therapy that is prescribed to Victors of the Hunger Games, and she dabbles in medication and psychic enemas only occasionally, when they come back into vogue every other year or so. The only way she's ever known to feel better about anything is to obliterate her woes under an aggressive spotlight, to cover them in makeup and hairspray, jewels and manicures, with liquor and sedatives as the fixative.
And naturally, she's noticed that all Clint's friends are gone. She may be morally opposed to inter-District alliances in the Arena, but she can respect that he must be sad and lonely, so instead of shuffling him off to a photoshoot today she gets Swann's permission to pack him into a car and take him to a spa. She doesn't tell him where they're going, just grins and says it's a surprise, and when they arrive she presents him with what must be the most shi-shi getaway in all the Capitol.
The entire spa smells like heavenly cinnamon fragrances, positioned over a natural waterfall with Avoxes tending to the hot springs at the base. There are steam rooms, sensory deprivation chambers, seal-fur robes that have never before touched human skin that will be discarded after a single use, ornately-carved wooden chairs and benches and masseuses at hand with entire carts of lotions and incense. The tessellated tiles along the floor are myriad colors, and the lights warming them from beneath cast the entire scene in stained glass. Some Capitolites in the far corner are receiving truly decadent manicures and facials.
She clutches her hands together in little fists under her chin and then checks them in. "Would you like to do the steam room first? You look so tired, lately. Maybe get changed into a robe and let one of the masseuses take out your tension? This is a high-end spa, those are professional masseuses, not just Avoxes trained to rub out a knot."
As she says that last array of words, she starts to undress, entirely without shame.
WHAT| Temple hits the town and goes to a spa.
WHEN| Week 6
WHERE| All over the Capitol
WARNINGS| Temple, so mentions of rape may happen, although anything in-depth will get its own warning.
I. OPEN
When rabbits are cornered by predators, they freeze. Some theories say they go blind from fright, too terrified to even see the escapes before their noses. This would be an apt description for Temple's current state, with her best friend labeled a traitor and the Peacekeepers more than willing to drag her son into the political mess of Mentorhood, but the paralyzing, myopia-inducing fear only constricts her ability to think, not to party. Not to hit the town with a child leashed to an Avox or shopping bags laden with enough goods to dress an entire District for a week.
She's aggressively friendly if she meets you on the street, trailing her Avoxes behind her like a wedding train. Something about it is almost desperate, as if the doll-like facade that she so buries herself under is cracked and brittle and she's just trying to patch the leaks with her palms and her handshakes. She's liable to get your name wrong, since she's been drinking since six a.m. this morning, although these lapses in memory are the only indicator that she's that inebriated. Sometimes she just approaches people she knows and hands them a shopping bag of expensive wares, insisting that she was thinking of them as she was shopping and knew they had to have it. She does this especially to Tributes, although occasionally to other Staffers.
Sometimes she cruises the local restaurants and clubs eyeing up those she might be able to take to bed with her with no concerns, no witnesses. Few people know as many blind spots in the Capitol as Temple Stevens, adulterous to a fault but discrete enough to never have anything caught on tape. There are, of course, clips of her kissing, canoodling, placing her hands in places that daytime airings of the Games would censor, but never anything enough to terminate a marriage on principle. Besides, there are enough open marriages in the Capitol that no one ever bothers to truly look twice at a District hussy in Capitol clothes.
By the beginnings of most nights, she's bubbly, fashionable, charming and more than willing to buy friends and strangers alike a drink. By the end, she tends to be a bit more maudlin, still spending money haphazardly but less out of generosity and more as a prophylactic to feeling poor.
Find her for company, or she'll find you.
II. Clint
If there's a better cure for loneliness and sorrow than a fresh coat of paint, Temple doesn't know what it is. She doesn't believe in the therapy that is prescribed to Victors of the Hunger Games, and she dabbles in medication and psychic enemas only occasionally, when they come back into vogue every other year or so. The only way she's ever known to feel better about anything is to obliterate her woes under an aggressive spotlight, to cover them in makeup and hairspray, jewels and manicures, with liquor and sedatives as the fixative.
And naturally, she's noticed that all Clint's friends are gone. She may be morally opposed to inter-District alliances in the Arena, but she can respect that he must be sad and lonely, so instead of shuffling him off to a photoshoot today she gets Swann's permission to pack him into a car and take him to a spa. She doesn't tell him where they're going, just grins and says it's a surprise, and when they arrive she presents him with what must be the most shi-shi getaway in all the Capitol.
The entire spa smells like heavenly cinnamon fragrances, positioned over a natural waterfall with Avoxes tending to the hot springs at the base. There are steam rooms, sensory deprivation chambers, seal-fur robes that have never before touched human skin that will be discarded after a single use, ornately-carved wooden chairs and benches and masseuses at hand with entire carts of lotions and incense. The tessellated tiles along the floor are myriad colors, and the lights warming them from beneath cast the entire scene in stained glass. Some Capitolites in the far corner are receiving truly decadent manicures and facials.
She clutches her hands together in little fists under her chin and then checks them in. "Would you like to do the steam room first? You look so tired, lately. Maybe get changed into a robe and let one of the masseuses take out your tension? This is a high-end spa, those are professional masseuses, not just Avoxes trained to rub out a knot."
As she says that last array of words, she starts to undress, entirely without shame.
no subject
"Are you sure about that? Don't you think Gowan's finances can take that hit? Given your current tasks at hand," he's smiling but there's nothing like making someone like Temple squirm and get caught in their anxious attempts at weaseling out of their responsibilities. Swann told him not to talk to this hussy but it's just so damn fun.
"I'd rather have a chat with Gowan about it." And let him know exactly how deep in the hole they could be.
no subject
Temple doesn't actually know how much money Gowan has, is hopeless with finances, but she knows it's a lot. She knows her husband has the number-one company in his industry and is by far too spineless to tell her to curb her spending, which is excessive even by Capitol standards.
"I mean, you can chat with Gowan, but," she mock whispers, smirking, "as someone who knows, he's not much of a conversationalist."
no subject
"I'd rather talk to him that his money is poured into a promise you have yet to keep." A fair reminder that if Temple goes down, Gowan responds for her mistakes. "For the sake of your boy's future as well." It's a dare towards the mentor: Tell the banker you're not squandering Bailey's estate and he will laugh.
"Thirty percent of the Solutions' expenses." A sizable amount but it's doable given the thousands of Assi that goes into District 8 thanks to Swann's work.
no subject
"You can talk to him. You have a phone, don't you? I can even give you his private line." Her smile tightens, her gaze narrows, when Sinclair mentions her boy, and how dare you bubbles up in her throat like bile, but she doesn't say it.
She takes a seat at a table and flags down one of the Avoxes who takes down orders.
"Stevens Industries can cover it. You know that. You've seen the numbers."
no subject
"I have, now I just need a guarantee that you or your husband won't default on your payments," he egged on, halfway out of spite and the other out of the innate ruthlessness that comes with money management.
no subject
She gives her order to the Avox, which involves nothing of the actual menu here because she certainly can't read it in appropriate time to look like she's not putting any effort in in front of Sinclair. It's just a coffee; she has to keep her figure, but her hands don't know what to do without a mug to nurse or her embroidery, and she certainly won't be doing the latter in front of this man.
no subject
In the blank spaces, he wrote in the stipulations of their agreement in pen before he passed the document along to the woman with a small grin. "Sign here on the mark but keep in mind to read it before doing so."
Now he's sure some of Gowan's education may have at least rubbed off.
no subject
She looks over each word, not apprehending a good half of them, but pursing her lips as if she has some quibbles that she's swallowing down. "And an exact copy of this will be sent to Gowan?"
She writes her name on the signature line.
no subject
The better to get him more riled up when shit hit the fan and Sinclair collected his money with just a little more joy to his step. He has enough money, that's a given in a twenty-fold scale. He simply wants to mess with those he sees as unworthy of his time, as contradicting as it was.
no subject
She tucks away her reading glasses in her clutch and settles back into her seat as the waiter brings her an appetizer and a drink. "But that's all business. Don't you have anything interesting to talk about, Mr. Sinclair? Gus - can I call you that? Any romantic prospects?"
She noticed him turning down her own overtures.
/wrap!
Through, anyone with eyes can see where Augustus' affections lie and it's the one thing he can't buy. Which makes his departing shot and subsequent smirk just a bit more smug than the norm,
"I know that I shouldn't touch things that don't belong to me, or just can't touch because I shouldn't. It wouldn't be proper. Take care, Mrs. Stevens. And give my regards to your husband and child."
He gave the Mentor a small nod of his head before heading out.