thecapitol | oh c'mon, oh c'mon what's a boy to do?

Entry tags:

oh c'mon, oh c'mon what's a boy to do?

Who| Enjolras and Valeria
What| Enjolras wants to know about Panem's history and government from a native. Valeria just wants a night out with a cute boy. It's totally not a date and there's no way this could possibly go wrong or lead to epic miscommunications.
Where| In front of the Training Center, and then some eatery in the Capitol.
When| The day after this thread. So, backdated a bit, I guess.
Warnings/Notes| Enjolras and politics should be its own warning, but nothing too extreme, I don't think. As always, I'll update accordingly if anything comes up.

By the time Enjolras carries himself from the District 5 suites down and over to the front of the training center, he's had appropriate time to ponder --not fret or stew, or brood, thank you-- over his previous attempts at entertaining women, however (blessedly) rare they may have been. In all but one case (and the woman in that particular instance was a second-cousin on a family picnic, which he was sure didn't actually count), his involvement had been the devious orchestrations of one of his friends, usually Courfeyrac, sometimes Prouvaire, and every single instance had ended terribly. Usually by his own fault. (Always by his own fault.)

He wasn't unaware of his charm, or good looks. As a point of fact, they were things he was aware of, grateful for, and cultivated as needed to further his goals. A leader so great as to inspire and stoke the flames revolution needed to be memorable and charismatic and if being attractive helped him in that regard, so be it. It's just that there was a delicate distinction between charisma, charm, and social grace which usually daunted him out of soliciting such company. That, in addition to his general discomfort at actually needing something from this woman was enough to put him in a mood.

Seven o'clock found him pacing --shoulders slightly hunched forward, and brow furrowed-- in front of the Training Center, his mind already burning with questions for her and half-conceived but above all polite seguays to get the conversation back on track when it inevitably deviated. He could look at this as a game, a challenge from which he could glean invaluable information about this culture. In that sense it wasn't anywhere near as frivolous as his mind told him.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Valeria did not, as such, go on dates very often. Even before the Quell and the blur of a never-ending work cycle started, she wasn't terribly interested in men for their conversational skills.

But she was nothing if not confident in her abilities, and she headed to the Training Center with significantly less anxiety than Enjolras, in a tight, shimmery gold dress she'd picked out mostly because it was easier to sit down in than most of her other 'fancy dress' outfits. She'd even brought a tablet with some of her old history textbooks and homework in her purse, although she still had hopes for an evening of more alcohol than reading.

Even pondering (okay, fine, brooding) though he was, it was difficult to miss her in the dress. The fabric was unlike any he'd ever seen, which while not an unusual thing for the Capitol, still seemed to catch the light at every possible opportunity and make her presence notable as soon as she entered the room. Enjolras was delighted to note that it wasn't too revealing of a cut, it seemed, and it hugged her in a flattering, if still entirely unacceptable way for his era. He was, however, beginning to accept that this wasn't his era. It was still jarring, but he would deal. Eventually.

Tearing himself away from the repeated path he'd been burning in the concrete, he approached her with a warm smile that belied his ambivalence toward the coming evening. There was still the ever present rigidity, and almost coldness to his manner. Enjolras found it difficult to shake the practically Laconian way in which he'd lived, and it reflected in the formal quality of his greeting. "Good evening, mademoiselle. It's lovely to see you again."

She beamed at him when he came over, more amused and charmed by his strange etiquette than put off, although she was starting to suspect that behind his stiffness lay certain...virgin explanations. But she could work with that.

"It's lovely to be seen, my dear," she replied, attempting to mimic his speaking style less than successfully.

The good thing about being inexperienced in both matters of romance, and more or less, with the etiquette of the Capitol is that Enjolras didn't notice the awkwardness of her wording at all. He was too busy planning his next step, and what small talk would be appropriate or inappropriate, so as to make the night progress according to his hopes.

Casually, or in what he hoped was a casual fashion, her his arm. It was polite, after all, even if he actually had no idea where they were going. "Have you been well? Please don't hesitate to pull me along if I start to wander."

Pleased, she hooked her arm through his without hesitation, though the idea that this meant he should be leading didn't even occur to her as she began to walk them in the direction of the restaurant. "Well enough," she said airily, swinging her handbag. "Busy as always, of course. It is lovely having you all here, of course, but you do create so much work for us. And Eponine, poor dear, still seems to be avoiding me for some reason."

After a moment's thought she remembered something of her manners and added, "And yourself?"

He fell into step with her easily enough, allowing himself to be tugged along down the increasingly familiar and yet still foreign streets. Enjolras couldn’t even venture a guess as to how formal an occasion she was planning, how involved their “date” was to be, but the small talk was something with which he was comfortable. In his time, conversation was an art practiced and admired, here he found it to be something people stumbled through at best. Suffice it to say, he trusted in the quality of his conversation, if perhaps not his command of the language, to carry him through the evening.

“Well enough,” he mimicked her, smiling softly down first at their linked arms, then turning ever so slightly to study her face. “I discovered the library, I must confess, it has taken up a great deal of my time since.”

"Should have had you pegged as a library type right away," she said, shaking her head in mock disapproval, a smile tugging at her lips. "Trust me, you want to understand this city, the library's not the place. It's all about the nightlife."

"Then isn't it fortuitous that I've found someone such as yourself." He caught himself smiling more broadly back at her, not at all minding the slight at the library. It wasn't like her stance on such things was exactly revelatory. "Will you tell me where we're going?"

"That's my middle name," she said, winking. "Fort--what you said, that's it. We're going to Below Timberline, lovely little place, great for talking. You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"Not at all," the reply is smooth and unconcerned, although in actuality Enjorlas can't remember the last time he's been anywhere especially high up outside of the Arena. Of all the things worthy of consideration there, his own fears hadn't actually been a factor. He had no expectation of winning, nor even hope of it, and so taking his eventual death as something granted had offered a strange sort of peace that had been difficult to achieve even on the barricade. The stakes were lower as well. For all his curiosity regarding the people of Panem, he couldn't claim any sort of true attachment to them outside of the obvious way in which they were all human. Rather, he cared more deeply for his Patria and thus the realization of the inevitability of his death had come as much more of a blow.

These considerably weighty thoughts running through his head, he neglects to pay attention to where he's walking and stumbles slightly, stepping awkwardly on the edge of a particularly ornate-looking flower bed. He lurches forward, and, due to their linked arms, tugs her along with him. It's a momentary set back, however, and he steadies them, or attempts to do so. "Ah-- Forgive me. I should pay closer attention to what's in front of me, it seems."

"Good, good," Valeria said, his descent into deep thought going unnoticed as she watched the passersby with interest, noting with some pleasure their jealous glances as they registered her partner. She didn't often have someone who could be considered arm candy, mostly because she didn't often stick with any one person for that long, but she rather enjoyed the attention it brought now, other pedestrians noticing that he was a Tribute or even just his appearance.

She's so focused on this attention, in fact, that she also loses track of where they're walking and stumbled into him, her balance worsened by her heels even with her years of her experience. She threw herself to the side instinctively, leaning on him and gripping the front of his shirt with her free hand. "Oh," she said, laughing. "My dear, I think at least one of us should be paying attention."

He blushed at their proximity even as he pulled her close against him with a firm hand on her shoulder. "That would undoubtedly be prudent."

It was a new experience for him, and despite his lack of interest in her, he felt compelled to lean it if only for the sake of experimentation. After a second, however, Enjolras pulled away, body language encouraging her to do the same. He had given up a number of things for the Revolution, this was no different, here was no different. Moreover, there was nothing in her physical appearance which stirred him. It was merely the propriety, or rather the lack thereof, which troubled him. Straightening up, Enjolras assured himself of this stance. This woman meant nothing. The revolution --equality of men-- was tantamount. "Forgive me, this is forward of me, isn't it?"

((ooc: I screwed up on my tenses in my last tag, I'm sorry. If it happens again and bothers you, please shoot me a PM or PP or something and I'll fix it.))

When Enjolras drew her closer than leaned in she froze, more out of surprise than anything else. If something physical was to happen tonight, she'd been expecting to have to work for it, from the boy's somewhat stiff nature. And she wasn't entirely incorrect, she realized, when he immediately started to draw back.

She raised an eyebrow, then grinned, gently teasing at his, from her view, sudden attack of cold feet. She leaned forward herself anyway, to peck him on the cheek, before she moved to a slightly more respectable distance. "Better forward than back, I'd say. How would we ever get anything done, otherwise?"

ooc: not at all! I tend to subconsciously switch tenses to match the tense of whomever I'm tagging, I didn't even notice.

His neck paled almost instantly at the contact, and a Rosetta flush appeared on his high cheekbones. It was the most intimate he'd ever been with a woman and despite his efforts to play into her expectations, Enjolras couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the situation. It wasn't unpleasant, of course. He could see Valeria's aesthetic appeal in the entirely objective sense of it all, and his avoidance for such things was always due to their tendency to distract from the goals of the Republic. On closer inspection, as he found himself, usually so defiantly eloquent, stammering and searching for words with which to respond, he decided that yes, in fact. Such things were a distraction.

A floral scent lingered in the air around him and he knew objectively (always objectively) that it must be her perfume. Perhaps this had all been a terrible mistake. "I-- forgive me, Mademoiselle, but perhaps in the interest of moving forward, we should continue onward."

Valeria laughed out loud at his flustered state, only thinking belatedly that she hoped he wasn't offended by it. He was just so cute, she couldn't help it, anymore than she could help reaching to pat him on the cheek, opposite from where she'd kissed.

"Brilliant idea, my dear," she agreed, loosening her attachment to him so she could slide her hand down his harm to clasp his own hand instead. Much easier to lead him around this way, even if it was less fancy. She pulled him gently along and almost as an afterthought waved her free hand at the buildings around them. "I feel like I should be giving you a tour guide's speech, me being the native and you the tourist and all."

Too be honest, he was still too addled by the proximity to know rightly whether or not he should be offended. He'd seen that reaction before from women. Not in relation to him, of course, but in regard to other passing couples. By the time her hand slid into his (or was his in hers? They were interlocked so much that he couldn't tell and didn't want to even begin to contemplate whether or not that mattered) he had decided that perhaps none of that was so important, especially not now that they seemed to be moving on. Enjolras would simply thank Providence that he'd been spared any further and potentially more embarrassing ventures of physical or emotional intimacy and let it go.

"I would certainly be interested in hearing that. Your Capitol is magnificent, but I feel I've hardly had the opportunity to properly see any of its significant sights with the schedule my District demands of me." He allowed himself to be dragged after her, not at all minding the change of subject. This was safer, more easily comprehended and closer to what he'd actually intended. And if the scent of her perfume lingering around him, or the softness of her palm in his (he'd settled on that arrangement because that was less unsettling) was still enough to be mildly disquieting, well, she didn't need the satisfaction of knowing that.

"We'll have to save that for next time," she said, as they stopped. It was a flippant comment, Enjolras was hard enough to read sometimes that she wasn't sure if he'd be up for another outing like this. He certainly didn't appear interested in anything more physical.

"We're here." She stopped only for a moment in front of the building, giving Enjolras a chance to take it in before heading inside. "Sweet little place, isn't it? Normally I'm of the more the merrier line of thought, but the nest idea is rather adorable. You did remember to make the reservations, didn't you?" Valeria added with a wink. She was only teasing, she'd already called ahead, and anyway they were a Stylist and a Tribute, they could have showed up at the busiest hour of the day and still be guaranteed a table.

He flushed again, taking her teasing for more suggestiveness instead of what it truly was.

"I did not. Please excuse me, I thought--" Enjolras trialed off, embarrassment again coloring his usual eloquence. "I should apologize."

"Calm down, dearie, calm down," Valeria laughed, patting Enjolras before raising her hand and snapping her fingers at the hostess. "You're still not used to being famous, are you? We don't need reservations."

"I do not consider my participation in The Games a reason for celebrity. I have accomplished very little in the grand scheme of things." There's an earnestness to his tone which belied he casual way in which he'd smiled and tried to play off his earlier reaction.

"I suppose that is somewhat counter to the culture of his place."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

oh c'mon, oh c'mon what's a boy to do?

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