thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who| Emily and Open!
What| Emily watches herself on TV, and realises the threat imminent to her District
Where| Around the Capitol
When| Just after the most recent propos
Warnings/Notes| None inherent

a) A busy square in the Capitol
Even after spending so many years in the spotlight, there was something a little surreal about seeing herself on TV. The idea of becoming this sort of symbol for the Capitol still leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but this was the price she'd had to pay for her citizenship and her freedom from the Games - not that the latter was an issue any more anyway now the war that had been brewing for the last 75 years had finally boiled over - and she was determined to give it her all.

She'd been tipped off by the production team as to when her propo was going to be broadcast, and she'd picked out a square in one of the Capitol's busiest shopping districts, with one of the very trees she refers to in the broadcast straight from Seven bedecked with lights placed in the centre. She cranes her neck up to the giant screens where her own face stares back down at her, pretty impressed at how well she's coming across. She's not ready, however, for the arms that are thrown around her as her speech ends, the Capitolites gathering around in their furs and heels and odd hair colours to kiss her on both cheeks and tell her what a darling she is and how she's inspired all of them.

She smiles sweetly, feeling a little lost, and knowing that she's preaching to the crowd here anyway.

b) Emily's Apartment
The District Thirteen broadcast was the worst possible thing for Emily to see. She'd been angry enough that footage of her Games was being used by the rebels, undermining everything she'd been trying to argue, but worse than that was seeing Thirteen's soldiers on the ground in Seven. She wants to not care, to revel in her own safety here in the Capitol, but her biggest weakness has always been caring too much, and she feels the vulnerable District girl all over again, knowing the utter brutality that would come from the Peacekeepers if the citizens of Seven were inspired to join the uprising. It didn't matter if they remembered how unbearable things became after the riots before, they were desperate and had nothing to lose.

When she hears the knock on the door she tries to calm herself from the panic she's broken into, but she still looks a mess when she answers the door, peering around nervously.

"Now's not a good time."

c) Wildcard
I'm happy to set up something else for your character, poke me at

viridianwings for another starter!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I figured." Beck leans up against the doorframe, giving Emily a little smile. She's shifted her style since the war started, proclaiming her allegiance with every inch of herself: her bushy hair is cropped on one side, with Panem's eagle dyed into it. The other side is shot through with red and gold streaks, and the neckline of her top is cut into the shape of the Capitol's skyline.

She raises the red-and-gold tote bag she's carrying in one hand (her nails are red and gold, too, each with a different District's symbol). "I brought fudge. And wine. How're you doing?"

Emily sighs in relief at seeing that it's Beck, and that she doesn't have both to put an over-zealous front and host a guest. She leans forward to grab Beck, pulling her inside the apartment and locking the door behind her, throwing her arms around her and burying her face into Beck's shoulder.

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling."

What the Capitol want her to feel.

Beck sighs, dropping her bag (with a little clonk as the wine bottle falls and settles) so she can hug Emily back, hold her close and stroke her shoulder. "Shh," she murmurs, against Emily's hair, and kisses it. "I've got you. I've got you. It's going to be okay." Then, pulling back just far enough to look Emily in the eyes, "It's not fucking fair of them to use you like that. Or move in on your people. I hope they burn."

Given her patriotic attire, it should be pretty clear that by them, she means the rebels.

"I always knew the insurgency would come to Seven eventually," she admits, twitching a little in her paranoia at making such a statement even from the relative safety of her own apartment. "I just... I don't know what to do. What can I do?"

She'd been trying so hard to prove herself as a Capitolite so that the image of her as a helpless Victor couldn't be used by the rebels to ignite Seven, but she had to admit they'd done a very good job of spinning her that way regardless.

"What can you do?" Beck sighs, brushing Emily's hair back with her fingertips, a light, gentle touch. "You can tell the Rebels to go fuck themselves, is what. You can go onscreen, get an interview, and tell them just what you think of their using you as a prop." Then, less briskly, more gently, "And you can come and sit with me, and eat fudge and drink wine, and we'll watch some silly movie that's got nothing to do with anything, and when you can breathe easy again, we'll talk. Okay?"

Emily nods, feeling helpless and vulnerable, and feeling especially guilty for having to hand her problems over to Beck because they're too heavy for her to carry right now. "Let's do that second part first."

"Yeah?" Beck rests her hands on the tops of Emily's arms, going on tiptoe to kiss her forehead. "Yeah. C'mon. I'll get some glasses. Where do you keep them?"

"The cupboard above the stove." She leaves Beck to it, locking the door as she felt paranoid even here, before retreating back to the pile of blankets she'd been hiding beneath on the sofa.

Beck nods, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back a few minutes later with a glass of wine in each hand. Passing one to Emily, she shunts herself onto the sofa in such a way that Emily can put her head in her lap, where she can stroke her hair.

Emily takes a big gulp of the wine before nestling into Beck's lap, nuzzling her cheek against Beck's thigh. "I like you taking care of me."

Beck smiles a little, tracing her fingertips through the fine hair at Emily's temple. "I like taking care of you," she says, truthfully. "So it's best all around."

"I do feel bad sometimes," she admits, even as she relaxes into Beck's touch. "I want to take care of you too. I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"I don't need taking care of." She leans down to kiss Emily's temple, then goes back to petting her hair. "Don't you worry about me, sweetheart. As for being a mess... we're all a mess, you know? You've got more reason to be than most."

"I know." If there's one thing she knows, it's how much of a mess all the Victors are, in their own way. "Doesn't mean you deserve a mess, though."

She shrugs. "If I didn't want to be here," she points out, "I wouldn't be. Here." Digging in her bag, she pulls out a piece of fudge and proffers it.

Emily breaks off a piece of the fudge, leaving the bigger half for Beck. "At least the Capitol's got the right idea about one thing - sugar and alcohol really do cure anything."

Sugar, alcohol, and sex, Beck nearly says flippantly, but bites it off just in time, remembering Emily's hang-ups about the whole sex thing. Instead, she just nods, popping the fudge into her mouth. "I've never found anything they don't."

Emily takes Beck's hand, running a finger over her lips to get the remnants of sugar from the tip, snuggling up against her. "Tell me a story. One with a happy ending."

"Okay." She has to think for a moment, though. She knows a lot of stories, but all of them are either from TV, or were told to her in confidence. At last, tracing her fingertips through Emily's hair: "Once upon a time, there was a girl. And she grew up all on her own, this girl. No parents, no friends, nothing. Just her, in a big house, all on her own." She reaches into the bag again, offering another piece of fudge. "As soon as she was old enough, she went out into the world. And she wasn't always alone, after that. She spent a whole lot of time with people, making friends, making connections. But there was one thing she never figured out. She had plenty of friends, plenty of lovers, but everywhere she looked it was like... like she was missing a trick. Because those lovers, they spent the night and then they moved on. And the girl, she saw all these people who loved each other, really loved each other, and she thought... she thought am I broken? Shouldn't I feel like that sometimes, too?"

Reaching over, she takes a sip of wine, then goes back to petting Emily's hair, almost absently. "She knew it was real, you know? Love. She helped plenty of other people find their way to it. But she just figured, after a while... maybe it just wasn't something for her? Maybe love's one of those things you have to learn to do as a kid." Biting her lip, she looks down at Emily, looking almost shy. It's not a look she's used to having. "Except then she looked around, and she thought about it, and she realised that she'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world. Right here. With you. Even if you're suffering, even with all the shit that's going on, I'd rather be here. You asked for a happy ending, right? Well, there's one. There's mine."

The bar is relatively empty at this hour, vacated by patrons headed off to more exciting clubs. It's a hole-in-the-wall not too far from his apartment, and a little less glitzy than most places downtown--the tables are bathed in muted red, while the countertop gleams beneath points of white light cast through a pierced-metal chandelier. A few colorful liqueurs sit on the shelves, but most of the bottles are more classic spirits, such as the whiskey Quintus has in hand, those simulated stars dancing against the glass as he takes a swig.

He's out of uniform, done for the day and not looking forward to what might come tomorrow. Sleeplessness has settled into the lines of his face, and he would be lying to say that he didn't think of turning her down tonight--but without distraction, he knows, his mind will be left running ever-tighter circles in the darkness of his apartment. He has to take these moments where he gets them, for the sake of his own sanity.

"I really want to know who they've got hacking our TV," he remarks, the humor in his tone as bitter as the alcohol. "Not that I think those ads are actually working as a recruiting tool, but I launched an investigation after the crowning and found no evidence that anyone at the network's a sympathizer. Looks like they're literally cracking the satellite signal encryption. I'm impressed."

Emily sinks down against the door as she swings it shut behind her, feeling her legs give way in her exhaustion and relief at having finally tracked Quintus down. He'd been her first thought when she'd seen the footage of the rebels in District Seven - if anyone would have an accurate picture of what was going on, it would be the Head Peacekeeper.

"I've been knocking on your apartment door all evening."

"Thought I told you I wouldn't be in." He thinks for a moment, trying to recall whether he left Emily a message--the intention was probably lost amidst the constant demands of his work. "Sorry."

Motioning for her to sit beside him, he lifts a hand to catch the eye of the bartender. "Order whatever you want; I'll pay for it."

She makes her way over to the bar, dragging her feet along heavily, feeling very weary. "Just a beer. ...No, something stronger. Whiskey. Then a beer."

The bartender looks to Quintus, who points to one of the more expensive bottles--better than the stuff he happens to be drinking. Once Emily has a glass in front of her, he shifts in his seat to face her.

"I thought your ad was nice, for the record," he says. "And I presume you want to talk about how things are looking in Seven right now."

Emily offers a tired, wry smile. "Just nice?" She'd worked too hard to be damned by faint praise.

"Yeah, I..." She breaks off, not really wanting to face how bad things could have gotten. "I need to know."

"Your performance was good, but the script overall was pretty melodramatic." He smiles back. "Exactly the sort of thing I'd expect from the Capitol, really."

The trace of amusement drops from his expression as he sips from his drink, thinking through what he can safely tell her. "We have intelligence indicating that a substantial force is camping out in the woods just outside of town. Thirteen's still got a crew occupying Twelve but most of their army's traveled northwest into Seven. We've got troops assembling to meet them as I speak."

Another sip. "I think I might stop in Two and then head up there myself. There's some people I ought to talk to in person."

"Don't." The word tumbles from her mouth before she can stop it, though she just manages to restrain herself from reaching out her hand to rest on his arm.

He blinks, slightly startled by her response. "I'll be all right. I'm not going to walk straight into the fray of any fighting."

"You don't have to be on the battlefield to be in the line of fire." She turns her gaze back to her drink, but her brow is still creased with worry. "They ambushed a train full of Peacekeepers; it's definitely not inconceivable that they'll target you as soon as you step out of the Capitol."

"That is a possibility I'll have to take precautions for," he concedes. "But there's only so much I can do remotely. And all those young guys I've got getting shot and blown up out there--I want them to understand that they're not just numbers on reports. When I was injured, my commander presented my medal personally, and that meant something to me."

He turns his glass around on the top of the bar. "I know this'll be a little unprecedented for a Head Peacekeeper to do, but hell, if nothing else it'll show that I give a damn."

Emily nods understanding; even if she doesn't particularly like the idea she knows completely where he's coming from. It was a similar sort of symbol to the one the government wanted her to play, except that she'd stepped into the role having no other choice, while Quintus was selflessly sacrificing his own safety to become one willingly.

She manages a faint smile, respecting his choice and knowing she wouldn't be able to change his mind. "That makes you a hell of a lot better than the Peacekeepers we had in Seven. I hope they appreciate all you're doing for them."

"Emily, I--" he starts to say, then rethinks the impulse almost immediately. "I'm sorry you got such a bad impression of them. I can tell you that in my--wow, almost twenty years doing this job that I've only met a couple guys that were really bad news. Most of us want to get it right. Keep things under control, if nothing else. I'm not that unusual or special--just a higher-up who still remembers his time on the ground, I guess."

He'd have a different impression if he'd seen it from the other side, Emily thinks bleakly. But then, Quintus was still a Districter himself. It's a detail she often forgets, with how much he's come to represent the authority of the Capitol to her.

"What about when you were growing up, in Two? Weren't the Peacekeepers seen as oppressive to the citizens, just the same?"

How could you become that oppressor, she wonders, if it's indeed the same as Seven and the horror stories she's heard about the other lower Districts.

"No, Two hasn't had the same kind of unrest. Becoming a peacekeeper's considered an honorable thing to do. My father was one, and he expected me and my brother to serve our country as well."

He spins his glass slowly around again, a faint smile on his lips. "I used to think about where Lurio would be if he'd taken that route. He would've done well. He was always looking for a challenge, some way he could stand out, and he had this zeal to him that was hard not to like."

Emily finds her view of him changing instantly, from 'local kid done good' to a part of the elite, distanced from other Districters even back in the Districts. She doesn't like the feeling of the gulf between them widening even further. She knows it's a bad idea to express her disappointment, so she focuses on what he's saying rather than her own feelings.

"You weren't looking for a challenge, then? And yet you've ended up with perhaps the most challenging job the Capitol can offer."

"I wound up here in the Capitol partly because I got tired of the same daily grind after ten years. It wasn't straight up wanting a challenge, I--I just felt I could do more." He shrugs. "I never expected to be promoted this far up the line, especially not this fast."

His promotion had been a surprise to Emily too; she still wasn't sure quite why the Capitol were so happy with having a Districter, an outsider, in such a position of power.

"Do more for who? Yourself, your family?" Although she was already certain the answer would be the nation, and that made her feel a little nauseous.

"If I were in it for me I wouldn't be talking about traveling out to a war zone," he says with a humorless laugh. "This job's a tough and thankless enterprise--most of peacekeeping is. Wouldn't recommend it to somebody looking for widespread fame and adoration."

Like Lurio had, he can't help but think--he'd craved that abstract glory, that popular desire. He could have indeed made a name for himself among his fellows, but it wouldn't have been the same as the way he'd captivated a nation in those final rounds, the eyes of all classes of society riveted on him. The whole thing had been too much too fast, like a firework burning itself out, and in a way it had left Quintus altogether wary of notoriety.

In his own mind, in spite of his title, he was still just a soldier, a piece of a larger machine. He couldn't risk being anything else.

"I wanted to do more for everybody. However much I could."

"And do you really think going out to a war zone is the best way to do more for everyone?" She looks at him challengingly over the top of her beer bottle.

Clara's slightly ashamed by the fact that she had never really reached out to her fellow former Mentor before their joint propo. There had always been other things to focus on other than making friends with the people who survived the Games before the Quell, like making sure that her Tributes had the best chances she could give them, despite her lack of combat skills.

She also was given a heads up about when the propo would be shown, and she stands in the crowd, doing her best to blend in after being prompted that she should go see how the Capitolites reacted to it. She isn't sure if it was them trying to gently cajole her to fully join the Capitol's cause or to rub it in that she's nothing but a pawn out of fear that they'll bring harm to her family. Either way, she watches the adoration piled upon Emily, making sure to stay as far out of the public eye as possible with a hood drawn up (they're very in this season, she's been told, because they're an excellent way to be fashionable without worrying about the winter wind).

After the initial wave of admirers seems to have died down, she finally approaches the other woman, pulling the hood back slightly so as not to appear to be some sort of bizarre grim reaper-esque figure. "You do excellent work, Miss Finch."

When Emily sees that it's Clara behind the hood, her first instinct is to reach up and rip it from her head. She thinks it very unfair that she's deliberately avoiding her share of the publicity that their propo is likely to gain - and wary too, knowing that distancing herself from it would arouse suspicion that she was coerced to contribute. But then, she reflects, hadn't she ultimately been coerced herself? She was sure the Capitol would waste no time in rescinding her citizenship if they thought even for a moment that she was enthusiastic about participating in this sort of propaganda. Instead she simply smiles, trying to look humble and grateful but knowing that her own weariness and paranoia is showing through.

"Thanks, I try. I didn't expect this kind of a reaction, though. You were pretty good yourself, especially as an off-worlder. They believed every word you said."

Smiling through weariness and paranoia is something Clara's getting all to used to seeing, both from her time as a Tribute and Mentor, and now from the faces she sees in the Detainment Center. She gives Emily as warm of a smile as she can muster, knowing that there's a decent chance that it's ringing false, but currently unable to muster up the energy to care about that.

There are things Clara wants to say in response, that she had too strong of an incentive not to make it believable, that while everything she said had a thread of truth to it, she still isn't on the Capitol's side and never will be. "Thanks. And they only believed me because I was paired with someone they can trust." Because she knows far too well that the people of the Capitol would probably be hesitant to take her at her word if she was alone, especially after the way that Alex died. "So, do you really believe that peace is possible?"

Emily bites on her lip, knowing there would be surveillance all around here, and it wasn't worth voicing her true feelings. "Of course it is. Even if these rebels won't listen to reason, they'll soon understand that they're no might for the force of the Capitol. Peace will happen one way or the other." She just hopes it isn't an empty peace won through total annihilation. And looking into her eyes, it's obvious that she's not convinced by her own words.

If there's one thing Clara's learned from previous conversations with the True Believers (or people who appear to be so) in the power of the Capitol, it's that there really isn't room to argue that victory by force isn't a true victory at all in these circumstances, so she keeps her opinion about the might of the force of the Capitol to herself. And she doesn't want to put Emily in a position where someone can overhear her saying otherwise, even if it's through very carefully chosen words. "All we can hope for is that this ends with as little bloodshed as possible," she says softly. "The last thing either side needs is another District 3."

She feels queasy at the idea of another entire District being wiped out just like that. "That won't happen," she says, more confidently than she feels. "If Three didn't deter them, another similar demonstration certainly won't."

"Let's hope that both sides use caution in that case." Okay, that isn't exactly keeping from pointing fingers at the Capitol, but it comes close for right now. "Who knows what kind of weapons the rebels have." Not that she truly thinks that District 13 would put their cause at jeopardy like that, but it's a possibility that's becoming more and more possible when she thinks about it. "Or what the Capitol would be willing to do if they're that scared."

Emily manages a lopsided smile. "Now, now. Of course the Capitol won't be scared of these dissidents." Her tone indicates that she agrees with Clara one hundred percent, knows that behind their shiny exterior the Capitol is terrified of the disorder that could be wrought, the challenge to their supreme authority and entitlement.

"I'm sure you're right," she responds, also unconvinced but knowing she needs to put on a happy, hopeful face for the Capitol. "I'm sure that the rebels don't have anything that comes close to what the Capitol has." Of course, they probably do, but saying that out loud is probably the best way to draw more eyes on her, which is the last thing she wants.

"Even with the handful of Victors and Tributes they have, the vast majority of them will be Districters. Farmers, labourers, not fighters. Certainly not enough to stand up to the might of the Peacekeepers." Something that sickened her, especially thinking back to the riots in Seven in her youth and how easily they'd been crushed, spirit broken as well as violence quelled. These people didn't have a chance, and she hated it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(no subject)

b

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

this feels like it might mess with timelines a little? if it does hmu and I'll rewrite

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

A

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject