thecapitol | The shocking and thrilling adventures!

The shocking and thrilling adventures!

Who| Everyone
What| The Capitols oh so exclusive interviews~!
Where| Primarily the common areas, but the interviews would be on every TV everywhere.
When| This evening, at 6 pm sharp
Notes| Use this post to ICly react to the interviews (if you don't make plans of your own!)

The advertisements hit hard today. Tune in at 6 o'clock, you won't want to miss this special! Everywhere a person could look, it was there, and the city was clearly excited for whatever this mystery event was.

As if that wasn't enough, escorts were encouraging Tributes to be in the commons, and a small feast of finger foods was laid out along one wall, extra avoxes available for drinks.

And, as promised, at 6 pm sharp, all the TVs flickered to the ever flashy Caesar, on an equally flashy tabloid-tastick reality style "interview" of the tributes. All the TVs in the common area light up with it, as well as the Districts suites, even if the TV had been off before.

Hope you all enjoy your dose of fame!

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"Mercy is a foolish hope, but I didn't think a little competence would be too much to ask for." He manages not to match the condescension in Enjolras' tone with an effort of will, but neither does he make explicitly clear whose incompetence he's referring to. "If they've truly been watching as closely as they claim to, they'd have recognized by now that I am infinitely better at being myself than they are at presenting me."

It certainly isn't going to be the Capitol that deals with the fallout from this. The Sponsors he's already won, the other Tributes, they know as well as he does how false a picture has been painted of him, but that won't help him in the Arena, where his choice will be between pleasing the Tributes out to murder him and the invisible audience who might save him. He might be a man of many faces, but he can only wear one at a time, and the freedom to choose it himself is the last right he will ever relinquish.

"Perhaps they feel themselves better judges of character." It's all Enjolras can do not to scoff outright at Neffa's statements. Mercy, competence, and presentation were all relatives here, as far as he could bother to be concerned over it. The Capitol is competent, clearly, in promoting the images it wants to promote to its people. They are merciful in that their precious and esteemed Tributes live in luxury before being forced to murder each other. If the Capitol isn't satisfied with what you are saying on your own, it's of little surprise to Enjolras that they should choose to correct it one way or another. One genuine person has the potential to promote a genuine idea and such things are dangerous to a government which would rather its people not think at all.

Unable to contain his bitter amusement any further, his expression breaks slightly, stance shifting to reflect his adversarial position. "Will you attempt to correct their misinformation, Monsieur? Please believe me when I say that I would encourage such efforts."

Given time, Neffa might have been able to cope with this gracefully. Had he seen the broadcast from the privacy of the District 7 suites, had he been given half an hour to pace his room, to curse his panic out at the deaf walls and come down wearing a calmer face, he might have been able to let Enjolras' tone go by him. As it is, even the hint of belligerence in Enjolras' stance gets under his skin like ant bites, and he can't keep his mouth closed.

"Certainly I'll complain to the management, if you encourage it," he says, all friendliness, but a shade too quickly. "Please believe me when I say that your segment quite persuaded me-- Were circumstances otherwise, you could make a living selling-- what is it-- insurance?" His smile was bright and genuine, and it does not touch his voice. "I particularly liked the part about freedom." Clearly, they've been playing close attention to you.

"I particularly liked the part where our captors disregarded the intent of my discourse in favor of their own agendas." Enjolras parrots the turn of phrase back just as quickly, though not without breaking his own pleasantly guarded expression. There's an art to debate, to combative rhetoric, to trying to make your opponent break faster, and he is entirely confident, nay, comfortable in his capabilities here. "Which is, no doubt, what they will do to any further attempts you might make to reason with them. However, naturally I should like to see what results you might come to."

And that, at least, isn't hyperbole or any other form of indirect lie or taunt. Enjolras has little doubt that the Capitol would continue to abuse their worlds to its own advantage, but if Neffa were truly intent on attempting to fix things for himself, monitoring his actions could provide valuable information. "Perhaps your mentors would have something to say on the subject."

"An inspired notion. Shall I bring you back a full report?" He spreads his hands, smiles with teeth, aggressively courteous. "I could take it down for you-- even record it, if you'd prefer!"

He has no intention of doing anything of the kind - or of complaining to the Capitol at all, as he knows as well as Enjolras how that would end. But he's embarrassed about his slip in control, still furious at the face on the screens, and that Enjolras should even think he would complain to the Capitol about his image makes him feel stupid. Getting the last word on Enjolras will feel like a victory - a petty one, to be sure, but a victory nonetheless. "Shall I bring along a message from you, as well? Or perhaps you'd like to tell me how best to phrase my argument."

"As you seem to require considerable assistance conveying your views with any degree of dispassionate reason, I would be happy to review them for you prior to this venture." As the sarcasm enters into it from either side, Enjolras can feel the conversation shifting. It's becoming ever so slightly more attacking, more personal, and he can feel his brows furrow and the frown that edges across his features in response, creating sharp lines across his face. What's done is done, however. There's no taking back his own harsh, vitriolic words as they escape his mouth just as there's no way for Neffa to redirect his own arguments now. They were locked in this until one proved perhaps to be slightly less stubborn (or more reasonable) than the other.

"If you wish to play messenger for me I shall not discourage you from that either, though I might take a moment to consider what I would like to say." The words were hissed more than spoken, and he could hear his normally quite mild accent grow with his frustration. Debates were distracting, arguments were consuming, and this was quickly becoming the latter.

It's childish, but getting such a visible reaction feels like scoring a point. Against disdain, he has no real weapons, but anger is heartening - whether he wins or loses, he can say now that he pulled Enjolras down with him. Dispassionate reason, gods help him - he gave up on reason when they rewarded him for getting stabbed to death.

"By all means!" His voice gets more mockingly bright as Enjolras's gets angrier. "But do try to put a time limit on it - as much as it would grieve me not to give your particular eloquence full voice, I have other engagements this week."

"In that case I might ask you to forward a letter instead. My eloquence is certainly derived better from oration, but I should not want to inconvenience you any more than necessary. After all, you are performing such a service to the rest of us." He held a hand to his chest, tilting his head in the barest hint of a bow. Combeferre had once told him he was too easily baited. Enjolras almost wished his friend were around to remind him of that now. He would likely have been capable of handling this with more grace.

"May I inquire, however, as to what is more pressing than presenting our arguments to our captors? Surely not a social obligation." A polite, but then smile ghosted across his features. If he wasn't easily baited, Enjolras figured he was far too expressive. It would only be a matter of minutes before he was talking with his hands or something equally betraying.

"Yes, actually!" It comes out more defensive than he'd intended. "It is a social obligation! Several, in fact." They're going to attract attention soon, he's sure. He doesn't expect that the chill, false politeness of the argument will break into anything more violent, but their displeasure must be clear to see. Especially as it gets louder.

He sits up straighter and leans forward, and now all of him is in this fight. Pay attention. "You see, to many of us here, my friend, argument is not nearly such a priority as it seems to be for you." Gods, this one probably started a debate with the screen in the interview room. "You may find this a confusing idea to grasp, but do try to reason your way through it-- I, and some others, have a great deal of stake in not being viciously murdered for entertainment. And argument, of the kind that drives away those few benevolent forces which we may employ in our favor, is terribly detrimental to that goal." He picks back up his earlier sarcasm, and with it means to foist his original complaint off on Enjolras-- so that Neffa's hypothetical suit before the management is neatly no longer his problem, and he no longer the overreacting fool. "Therefore-- yes, my social obligations are rather more important to me than your arguments."

"The desire for social acceptance is a powerful motivator. As men we are each predisposed to desire each other's esteem and to even weaponize that esteem when in the position to do so." He finished the paraphrasing with a very slight, very amiable shrug which spoke of a lack of ill-will toward the other man for his choice. It was as if to say that Neffa's tendencies were instinct and not the product of a reasonable creature without ever having to truly give voice to such implications.

"I might remind you however, my friend, that it was your outburst which prompted my suggestion of complaint. Perhaps my arguments are therefore merely to be borrowed on account of my particular eloquence and familiarity with rhetoric." Enjolras smiled thinly, his accent again under tight control, and his voice again sounding to him like his own. If he were to assess the situation, he would say, childishly perhaps, that he'd won that round.

Neffa's eyes narrowed. He found, quite suddenly, that he was no longer irritated, but angry. It knocked him off balance - arguing with a fool was no cause for anger, and certainly not for the wave of viciousness that swept suddenly through him. It was familar, almost, how he could almost feel his hackles going up--

--Of course. That was it. It was familiar because there was something of Surri in it.

Neffa knew it was true even as he understood that it was stupid. Surri and Enjolras were nothing alike, not truly, but that was a mode of argument Surri had always favored-- that particular kind of I am too enlightened to fault you for your ignorance condescension. It was an irrational fury, in a world without Surri in it (and reacting,then as now, was the same as losing), but that didn't stop it feeling like biting on tin.

"Are you mocking me? Or do you really think that your argument, borrowed or otherwise, would accomplish anything?" he asked-- voice still light, but quicker and colder. "Are you actually convinced that beating my fists against the truth they've built this entire world on would persuade a single one of them to abandon it?" His patience was gone, and he wasn't just talking about a single complaint now - he was talking about the network, about the high-handed lessons in politics, about Enjolras's whole stupid pattern. "Are you blind? Their esteem is the only weapon we have."

That mode of argument had been borrowed from multiple men throughout history. While Enjolras was aware that his youth and physical presentation likened him in no small way to Saint-Just, he’d always found the man’s cold dogmas to be beyond his attempts at imitation. Moreover, while Robespierre and Rousseau before him could tow the of the self-righteous, they were uncompromising. Saint-Just, for all his youth, held the air of a sinner repenting and speaking on his sins, Robespierre’s austerity and control better suited Enjolras’ tightly wound essence.

As such, there was a sanctimoniousness to the eyebrow that gently lifted in response. The mood of the conversation had changed yet again. It was no longer debate, two people healthily expounding upon their conflicting points of view each for the benefit of the other. No, this was argument; a battle to be won, usually if only be outlasting the other. Verbosity, fortunately, was something he was pleased to share with the Terror’s Angel of Death.

“And how generous they are to bestow such a weapon upon us. How easily they could simply take it away.” There was a false humour to his voice and, again, a thin smile that worked its way across his otherwise disdainful expression. “That is the trouble, isn’t it? How this entire conversation started? Don’t you see that so long as they can manipulate our words we would be fools to rely upon their good judgement of us? We are nothing but tools for their government to use and if it is possible to fight back, it can only be done so by educating the people ourselves! Not through their barbaric system!”

He wasn’t shouting, not exactly. But perhaps his enthusiasm had actually gotten the better of him.

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The shocking and thrilling adventures!

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