Cause I'm the trick who's been coming 'round looking to loving you

[quiethumerus]

Who| Kurloz, a snake, and YOU... if you so happen to be in or visiting the DC.
What| Kurloz visits the DC.
Where| The DC (Detainment Center).
When| About now, wibbly wobbly time.
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, possible brainwashing allusions. Snakes.

His time as a Hunger Games stylist, though brief, is over. He find he doesn't mind as much as he thought he would. He has a new job now, one even more important, and possibly more prestigious than the previous one. He is now a stylist for Capitol TV's mandatory broadcast specials dedicated to preserving the peace that is Panem and encouraging the suffocation of the anarchist spark.

Kurloz doesn't believe in using force to get his way. There's no need for any of that here, not in the Capitol where all is calm and quiet, if a little restless in whispered undercurrent of the rumor mill. Most of it is all nonsense. For example, there is nothing heinous happening here in the DC. Everyone is being detained for safety purposes. There is nothing more to examine.

That said, he doesn't imagine those detained are necessarily happy. Boredom is a terrible curse upon humanity and with on motion, he believes he can down these two birds. With a snake and a notepad, that is.

Callie curls all nice and sweet around him, worn like a tiny little scarf, the iridescent rainbow serpent eagerly looks to her own new job. If cats and dogs can be brought into hospitals for good cheer, why can't a snake be brought to a prison? She's such a good girl, he can't imagine anyone to have a problem with her. And as she takes the edge of these trying times, he can propose then if they would like to help the Capitol of their own will, buying them a ticket out of there.

His note specifically requests those that the DC staff believe would be good candidates. He's sure they'll understand. He notices he's not the only of those around, as he glances about the waiting room. Most of them are fancier than he, but he knows how Districters dress in reality and has better understanding of what's more comfortable for offworlders; so he dresses down, only allowing a nice manicure. One can never try too hard to appeal to the audience.

Soon enough, he's allowed out of the waiting room, away from the piled up issues of Celebrus, and in among the heavily secured visitation room. His smile would make it seem he simply hasn't noticed, and it remains up to when his guest (or, well, he would be the real guest now wouldn't he?) decides to show, escorted by peacekeepers to a seat across this particular table.

Comments

[whittlingnickels]

Sinclair doesn't handle the riff-raff, that's for the Peacekeepers to do and his assistants to deal with. But ever since the Bouchard family's fall from grace, patriotism was not only at an all-time high, but a jealously guarded commodity. One had to be for the Capitol at all times, or else, face certain death.

Augustus is here to scout for the nearest propaganda tool to use in his ads and maybe some test subjects for other ventures, Solutions was a provider of such, under the table of course. When he sees Kurloz, he sees his pedigree first before the strange mute young man.

"Scouting too, I see," he broke the ice with, expecting no audio response.

[quiethumerus]

He's surprised to be greeted and greeted in such a way. He would've thought he was the only on such missions but perhaps that had been foolish. In any case, his good mood brings him to smile brightly on the new presence, only for him to stall as he realises who it is.

Sir Sinclair. Kurloz is not much the business man of his family. If anyone, that would have been his younger brother. But it's not his younger brother who gave this name. Sinclair is everywhere. He's in a hundred products, companies, sponsors. His face has been on magazines. This is someone with real true power.

This is someone the Makara line couldn't compare to. Kurloz wouldn't have cared for that a few years ago but in his desperate crawl for even a shred of that same security, he feels wowed.

But of course, he can show this on the outs too much. He makes a show of his surprise, his delight, like it's not truly what it is. He rises up with his hands together, head bowing just a little. What an honor it is to meet you, sir."

[whittlingnickels]

The formalities are welcomed in this day and age, where some people forgot their place and their manners. Kurloz might be a strange one in the Capitolite scene but he was indeed one of the better ones out there. The Makaras were devoted to the government, thanks in part to the patriarch of the family.

But whatever security Kurloz thinks Sinclair has, it's all a ruse that the man desperately wants to maintain. It's his only salvation from the Rebellion and the possibility that everything he's worked for crumbled. His power depended on money, on the ebb and flow of the economy.

"At ease youn' man, no need for that," Gus chuckled in what seemed like a forgiving but genial pose. "Though it's an honor to meet you."

[quiethumerus]

He does as commanded, at least so far as appearances went. "At ease" was something he knew plenty about replicating and little about experiencing. It was important both to do as asked and to remain sharp enough nevertheless to miss absolutely nothing about anything, especially not a figure of importance.

He knows not of the fragility of Sinclair's state, just as the idea of a crumbling Capitol is unfathomable to him in the very literal sense of the word. How could anything crush a titan?

He forgets himself though. He blinks and needs a moment to recollect why their meeting might be an honor. But yes, he is a stylist. He is-- was important to the Capitol, in a position worthy of that honor. And so his hands fold over his chest, above his heart, to express his flattery.

With exaggerated movement he glances about the office here and returns to looking at Sinclair with a curious expression. What sort of scouting was he suggesting?

[whittlingnickels]

Turns out there is something that can crush a titan, whether it be the Capitol or the face of a sixth of Panem's banks: the ground they step on. And worse, it's not a quick death, but a slowly suffocating demise as the Districts start to encroach on everything Sinclair and Kurloz hold dear.

It has always been every Capitolite for themselves and yet Gus is drawn to his lot, to the historically and presently important. The Makaras were a line bathed in prestige and in the patriarch's case, in blood. If you needed something corrected, you went to a Sinclair, but if you needed someone to remember who's in charge, you go to the looming specter that towered over the former Stylist.

"I'm in dire need of recruits for some products and advertising," he answered honestly, it's very unbecoming to lie, "Seems the offworlders still have sway in the public eye."