thecapitol | open!

Entry tags:

open!

Who| Stephen Reagan and anyone
What| Business and pleasure as usual on the home front
Where| The office of the undersecretary of the Minister of the Future, and also a cafe
When| As backdated as you like, honestly; Stephen's habits haven't changed much over the past few months. Basically, the new year to just after the propo he was in goes live.
Warnings/Notes| Stephen Reagan being disgustingly bigoted.

A:

Stephen Reagan's desk isn't fancy or expansive, but that's all right. He's not sure what he would keep in it, anyway; all his files and all his schedules and all his messages are all done electronically, over the tablet that never seems to leave his side these days. It's more of a workstation than a desk, letting Stephen hook his tablet into its socket and spread electronic copies of forms and documents over the smooth white surface in front of him. It's out of the way, sheltered from the view of passersby by a half-wall, and generally, it's pretty quiet. Stephen's reading with pursed lips, looking over the morning's minor catastrophes, tapping his stylus against the desk as he debates whether or not this needs Ms. Dolar's attention. His suit is clean and neat and well-cut, his makeup subtle, all glitter kept to a minimum. He looks youthful but sober.

B:

It's nice to have a job that, by and large, ends in the evening. Sure, Stephen's taken work home a few times, and sometimes he's got to field things that come up unexpectedly, but it's not the same kind of twenty-four-seven being an Escort was. There's nothing on his plate today that can't be done tomorrow morning, so Stephen, still in the suit he wore to work, is sitting with a glass of wine on the patio of a cafe, watching the sun go down behind the Capitol's glittering cityscape, taking time to relax. In some moments, it's hard to believe the Capitol is really at war. Of course, Stephen never doubts the reality of it for a second, but shouldn't peaceful moments like this be impossible with Panem tearing itself apart? It doesn't seem right to him. His feet are stretched in front of him and his elbow is leaned over the back of the chair. He watches the passersby, alone at his table, separated from the street only by a thin wrought-iron fence that's barely waist height.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It isn't often anymore that Anna is seen flitting about the Capitol in her old, carefree way. There was a time when she'd enjoyed seeing the sights, investigating restaurants and attractions, museums and shops, just for the chance to feel like she was free to do anything. But now...things are different. Everything has changed, but more importantly she has changed. Enough time spent with Kurloz Makara will do that to a girl, but on the bright side, any doubts she might have had about the Capitol are gone. Erased. His tinkering has placed her firmly on the side of loyal quasi-citizen and fighter, with the shadows of her former carefree self flitting only vaguely across the surface.

Still, it's good to get out of the house every once in awhile—especially when all of her roommates are in relationships and very amorous—so Anna lets her feet carry her where they may, dressed in something flashy enough for the Capitol but not so flashy that she'd outshine any true Capitolite. She may be a Victor, after all, but she's still an Offworlder.

The sight of a familiar face draws her out of her thoughts; she pauses on the other side of the iron railing, her fingers passing over the sharp points atop it. She hasn't seen him in a long, long time; the last time they spoke, she was fresh out of her first Arena.

"Excuse me..." Her voice is soft, and small. "We've met, haven't we?"

"That was a long time ago," Stephen says smoothly. "I'm surprised you remember." They've both changed, haven't they? Gone, too, is Stephen's bright friendliness. He's not tense, nor is he impolite, but there's a cool distance in his entire manner, separating them just as effectively as the iron railing.

He won't let himself wonder what's happened to her, not until after she's gone. There's a part he's got to play, and concern for an Offworlder has no place in it. Stephen's on camera now, always on camera, always watched, always performing. He notices in a detached, idle way that she's not her old self, but no one looking at him would guess that it mattered to him.

However long ago they may have met, Anna's surprised by the coolness she perceives in Stephen. When they'd met before, he'd been nothing but friendly and helpful—even though he wasn't even her Escort. Now, there's none of that warmth. But she can't really talk; she's not the warmest person herself, these days.

"Oh," she replies, the ghost of a smile on her face. "I guess it was. Time goes by so fast...that must have been nearly two years ago, now." Anna cocks her head. "It's Stephen, right? I remember my sister spoke very highly of you, too. She said you were very kind." Talking about Elsa hurts, but if she glosses over it enough she can almost pretend that it doesn't.

How long should he let the small talk go on? Stephen's not sure. This conversation isn't going to end well for Anna, he knows, but he can't even be cruel to be kind here. He hasn't had all that much contact with Tributes lately, so he'd probably better keep the act up a while longer.

"That's right -- Stephen Reagan," he replies, and the clarification holds the implication that they're not on first-name terms. "I remember your sister. Shame about her." He'd cared about Elsa much, much more than his tone suggests.

"Right," Anna says with a little nod, her fingers curling around the iron railing. "Mr. Reagan." Her voice is careful, especially because she's thrown off by his stiffness. Things change, certainly, but the sudden change in demeanor toward her, toward all Offworlders, by Capitol natives is confusing. Mere months ago, people were celebrating her—wearing clothing with her face on it. Hounding her for interviews and photo shoots. Now it seems people would be just fine letting her fade into obscurity while she fights in their battles for them.

But that's fine. She's doing the right thing. For the Capitol.

"Yes...she was very well-loved. It's—hard, with her gone." The princess fidgets. This is awkward, and she's beginning to wish she hadn't stopped. "You don't work in the Tower anymore, do you."

Stephen does either an admirable or a deplorable job of not reacting to that. He can tell she's uncomfortable, can tell he's making her uncomfortable, but there's no stopping it. It would probably be kinder, he thinks, to cut the conversation off.

"Right again," he says, and there's no kindness in his flippancy. "Two for two. Tributes -- or should I say offworlders? -- haven't been my business for nearly a year. So whatever it is you want, take it to somebody else. You're not my problem anymore."

Her gut instincts about this whole encounter are turning out to be right; it was a mistake to stop. She ought to have just pretended not to see him or recognize him even, and just kept walking. But the damage is done, and her eyes are growing wide with hurt and surprise. The words 'But I'm a Victor' die on her lips.

She can't help it; she bursts into tears. "Oh. Okay," she says thickly, turning quickly to hide her face. She'd thought maybe she'd found one last vestige of the kindness she used to know, all too long ago; finding that the opposite is true is just a little too much for her.

Anna absconds before she can make an even bigger fool of herself. She won't be leaving the house again for awhile.

Thank god she's gone. Drawing it out would only have been worse, in the end. At least it's over now. Stephen watches her go, his face a mask of disdain.

That's a girl who's alone, he thinks -- or, if not alone, certainly lonely. The two aren't always the same. She's lost her only family here, she's lost her energy, and she's desperate enough for someone to talk to that she's approached a Capitolite.

It's a hard thing to watch, and an even harder thing to watch impassively. He takes a deep drink. Anna, he thinks, putting the name in his memory. If he's ever in a better position than this to do it, Stephen promises himself, he's going to do something to help her, to make up for what she's feeling now. It won't always be like this. He won't always be hiding. He'll be able to do something. He will. Stephen has to believe that. The only thing worse than what he just did would be doing it for nothing.

It's not unusual for Peacekeepers to visit the Ministry, but it's nearly unheard of for offworlders. Ministers and former Tributes simply don't move in the same circles; the divide is even starker than it is between Capitolites and Avoxes, at least in terms of who may end up in the same room as another if nothing else.

Tom's aware that he's flouting convention when he goes to see Stephen at his office. It's not that he doesn't know the rules of the world he's spent more than a year in. But still, he acts as if there's no reason it would be odd for him to be showing up.

"Good morning, lad." He raps at the doorway of Stephen's office. "Keeping yourself hard at work?"

Stephen looks up -- and doesn't bother to keep the not-entirely-pleased surprise off of his face. At least pretending to dislike this offworlder won't be a stretch.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Cassidy?" Stephen asks, clipped. He doesn't put the tablet down; Tom's presence is an interruption, one Stephen clearly expects to be over with quickly.

"A problem? Why would there be?" By contrast, Tom acts as if he fully expects to loiter, helping himself to the seat without asking permission. He's testing boundaries, seeing how far he can press before Stephen's now-legendary reform into a proper Capitolite sends him scuttling.

He lounges like a cat in a sunbeam. "What is it you're working on there?"

Stephen's got a line to walk here, and you can see on his face that he's weighing risks. On the one hand, it's never good to make an enemy of a Peacekeeper, Offworlder or not, and Tom Cassidy is high-profile. On the other, there is literally nothing Stephen wants from Tom on any level. Tom, most likely, wants to suck up to a Reagan and thought Stephen would be an easier target than Cyrus. If Tom's pro-Capitol act is a lie, then he's a liability for Stephen, a risk. If it's true, then Stephen, personally, has no interest in him.

How do I get him out of here, Stephen thinks, without offending him, and without looking like I care if I offend him?

"Nothing of immediate Peacekeeper interest," he replies briskly. "If it were, you would of course be able to access it through the proper channels. If there's not a problem, Mr. Cassidy," Stephen goes on with a touch more force, "to what do I owe this visit?"

"Do I need a reason to want to pay a visit to an esteemed Citizen?"

Tom does, in fact, want to suck up to a Reagan. He feels, possibly incorrectly, that he's done an admiral job brownnosing Cyrus, but now he wants the matching set.

He's building up his stores of information to make himself invaluable to either side.

"Your brother didn't seem to mind company when I paid him a visit a few months back."

Your brother didn't mind the company--

For a moment, Stephen's mind goes right into the gutter. Maybe it's the way Tom says it, the way it's practically dripping with insinuation, but it makes Stephen think of the double-meaning that comes with the word company. But no, that's incredibly unlikely. Cyrus despises anyone not a born Capitolite. Stephen knows that well enough. Besides, Tom is married to Molotov Cocktease. There are at least five facts that render the idea that Black Tom Cassidy seduced Cyrus Reagan incredibly unlikely.

"You've picked an inconvenient time to do it," Stephen shoots back. "I'm going to be frank, Mr. Cassidy: a social call from you is not the most important thing I need to deal with today, not by far, and I do not have the time on my hands to entertain you."

Unlikely, but not unconsidered. Tom absolutely would have taken Cyrus to bed if it were possible and would have gotten him some sort of favored treatment. He sees the fact that he hasn't had such an opportunity as an additional challenge, a blocked-off shortcut.

"Oh?" Tom reads the dismissal, but tries to push just a bit further. He's curious, and like a cat, he has an allergic reaction to being told "no" to just about anything. "If you have so many important things to deal with, I'd be happy to take some off your plate if there's anything you can delegate."

What a difficult person to get rid of. This is frustrating. Just being around Tom Cassidy makes Stephen feel a little slimier; Stephen already feels like he needs to wash the oil out of his hair.

He smiles politely, but there's no warmth in it, just ice. "I don't think so," Stephen says. "Now, unless there's something important you need to bring to my attention, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Edited 2016-05-20 02:17 (UTC)

Black Tom sighs, and it's not just loud and guilt-trippy, it's outright theatrical.

"And here I was thinking we could be of some mutual benefit to each other, you with your...newfound political acumen and me with my current star power. But if you aren't interested, I can show myself out. I'll be sure to let Mr. Reagan - your brother, I mean - know how well my attempt to introduce myself went over."

Stephen feels a laugh curl around his ribs, tightening the muscles in his stomach, and keeps it there; it will not make it to his face. Of all the truths Stephen feels confident of in this world, it is that Black Tom Cassidy will never come between himself and Cyrus. The idea of him trying, in Stephen's opinion, is laughable. He also can't see how distancing himself from Cassidy will harm how Cyrus sees him; if Cyrus's legislative history were anything to go by, the more distance between Stephen and offworlders, the better.

"Say hello to him for me," he says, and he returns to his work.

Maybe another time, in other circumstances, Stephen could have used what Black Tom is offering. However, he's chosen to take a hard line: false prejudice against all offworlders. A tenuous alliance with Mr. Cassidy, one that would end in immediate betrayal as soon as Tom saw something to gain from it, wasn't worth modifying his act for. No, that bit of uncertainty was better avoided.

If Tom looks miffed now, it's not feigned at all - it's completely genuine. He only doesn't bother to hide it for anyone watching on security cameras. It's not just that Stephen blew him off, but that Tom miscalculated how far his favor with Cyrus would get him. He grits his teeth and flushes as he takes his leave.

He makes sure to clack his cane REALLY LOUDLY against the floor as he exits the building, because he is an actual child.

Connections mean so, so much in the Capitol. Especially when belts are tight and wallets are light. Felicity's mother seemed to know someone who knew someone who knew everyone... and from up the chain of knowing came the news that Stephen Reagan was in need of an assistant. And why, wasn't Felicity eager for some work experience? That a paycheck came along with the position was a real bonus, given that Algernon Yoshida was still not considered fit to return to duty as a Peacekeeper...

Felicity is not entirely sure that she wants this job. It's going to cut into her exam time, which might result in not graduating, and it's definitely going to cut into her writing time... but maybe doing this would be an improvement over all the staring at the ceiling with a knot in her stomach that she'd been doing instead of the studying or writing that she ought to be getting up to. And the money would definitely help out the household. Things weren't at all the same, with Uncle Torin back in District 2 and the... overall general situation being what it was. She was going to have to suck it up and try being an adult, for once.

So there she is, striding into Stephen's office with her head held high and her handbag clutched nervously tightly with both hands, having been told to go in by the secretary. Her outfit is cute and polished and an effort at appearing as mature as possible. The heels help bump her over the five-foot-two mark, at least, and she's quite practiced at walking in them by now. "Aah, Mr. Reagan? I'm Felicity Yoshida, here for an interview?"

Oh no, oh wait, was that wrong? Was she screwing it up already?

He breaks into a smile, a warm one.

"Mr. Reagan is the other brother," he says. "The one you didn't bump into....god, it must have been almost a year ago, now. Love your shoes, by the way."

Perfect clothing choice, no matter your gender, is worth complimenting, in Stephen's opinion. Not to mention the fact that she's learned to handle her heels. He gestures at the chair in front of the desk, all sleek lines and space-age white curves.

"Sit down."

"A-about a year ago, yes! Oh...!" A quick glance down to her shoes, then right back up again to Stephen's face, and Felicity just keeps right on smile, smile, smiling. "Thank you!" But they are not here for shoe chat. This is just idle introductory stuff. She gives a quick nod (almost a bow but not *actually* one) and has herself a seat where indicated, settling her purse primly into her lap.

And then she realizes that she has no idea what else to say and sort of... freezes up.

"All right," Stephen says, one elbow carelessly resting on the back of his chair. He's at ease, keeping the pressure on Felicity as light as possible. "Let's get down to business. The first thing I want to know is, do you have any questions for me about the position?"

The ease is kind of nice to see, and she'd like to mirror it, but having been told to take this as seriously as possible, she is not really moving from her purse-in-lap spine-straight position. "Ah... yes! Yes, I do!" No, no she doesn't, but you're supposed to have questions... surely she can think of one in the next few seconds.

"The... ah, the hours, what hours will I be needed for? I'm still a little ways out from graduation so... I'd need to, to work my schedule around that." That's a... reasonable request, right? Is it? She's not sure. What she is sure about is that she's going to find out wether it is or not shortly.

"I'm sure we can work something out until your schooling's out of the way," Stephen says, waving a hand. "You'll be relief for other assistants until you graduate. You're all right with coming in evenings and weekends if we need you, right?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" That sounds like she's totally still under consideration for the job, and that it's doable, and she'll be able to do all the things that she needs to do. She's smiling even wider, and with a lot more sincerity. "I'll be finishing up soon enough, and once that's done, you can have me on call for whenever you'd need!" It's important to seem eager, right? She's sure she's heard that somewhere.

Another question pops to mind, then, and without even thinking it over, Felicity voices it. "What sort of things do the assistants here... assist with?"

Punchy's practically invisible in the Capitol. He's a former Avox, disregarded, a hapless brainwashing victim that the Capitol hasn't gotten around to tuning back up yet. For an unwilling soldier, he's given surprisingly little supervision, and has essentially free run of the city. He doesn't have many assi, but he won't go unfed at the Detention Center, so he'll try and get some coffee with the pittance offworld soldiers are given.

He's missed so much. He was away from the Capitol for months with District Thirteen, barely surviving on alcohol and drugs the months before that. He doesn't really realize that Stephen's changed when he sees him at the same cafe and approaches. He vaguely knows that Stephen is in the government now.

But he remembers Stephen. He remembers that there are some Escorts who treated their Tributes well. He always felt safe and tended to around Stephen, which wasn't something Punchy even knew to recognize at the time.

"Sup, dawg?" he asks, sitting down across from Stephen without asking permission.

Stephen's face pulls into a sharp frown -- more Cyruslike than he'd be fully comfortable with, actually, if he were to see it.

"Hello, Punchy," he says coldly, his posture still casual, but far from relaxed. "It's been a while."

"'Sup, dawg." Punchy holds out a fist for a bump as if he were greeting an old friend, not a government official, completely ignoring the difference in Stephen's demeanor. There's a dodge of nerves in Punchy's face, but that has less to do with Stephen's title and more to do with the residual programming from being an Avox.

"How's your sack hanging these days, brother?"

Stephen stares for a moment, like he's stunned. He knows what happened to Punchy (of course he knows, Stephen keeps track of the offworld soldiers and shifting alliances and captives, and anyone he knew personally gets special attention) but is it possible Punchy seriously hasn't heard what Stephen is like these days...?

....yes.

Yes, it is.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Stephen says, leaving Punchy's fistbump hanging awkwardly in midair. "I don't know if you haven't heard or if you're just stupid, but I don't work with offworlders anymore."

Edited 2016-03-29 22:33 (UTC)

Punchy looks confused, that dopey smile fixed on his face but his eyebrows jumping up. "Nah, dawg, I ain't coming to talk offworlders with you. I wanted to rep my Avox bros to you."

He knows it's a long shot, but he knows Stephen's got a good heart, that a Reagan's one of the few people in the Capitol powerful enough to get any footage of this meeting deleted and keep him from being turned over for daring to suggest it.

What the fuck.

The look of abject astonishment on Stephen's face is no act.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hisses. "You came up to me here to lobby me for Avox reform?"

"Uh...yeah? C'mon, homes, I know you're down with my vibe." Stephen's one of the few people who hasn't given Punchy a lecture on how he needs to talk clearer, and Punchy responds to Stephen's abject astonishment with guileless, blithe conviction.

"You need to pretend to boot me now?"

Because, I mean. Obviously Stephen's just putting on the necessary show before they get down to brass tacks.

Oh, god. It's like kicking a puppy -- a really, really stupid puppy.

"I need to make a couple things clear," Stephen says, dialing the astonishment back to a setting that's angry sternness. "One, I don't have the power to do anything about the Avoxes, and even if I did, I don't give a shit. Two, I'm not pretending to boot you. I'm actually doing it."

"I don't dig it," Punchy says, in complete earnestness. "Why ain't you givin' rep to my peeps? You ain't ever shut out a homie before when he brought you a good cause."

But something in Punchy crumples, the part that truly believed in Stephen - and by continuation, believes in the Capitol's ability to care for its silent slaves.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

open!

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

Hella backdated

lemme see you backdate up

Re: lemme see you backdate up

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject