thecapitol | 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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Less dead than the rest of them. She didn't believe that he was the kind of person that they portrayed on the screens, but just as their manipulations was making them fight among themselves, it was also simultaneously creating those personas from the inside out.

"Winning by being the one that's least dead out of your peers." She allowed the words to sit for a moment, thinking on her final say. "That's not winning... Not unless you're like them."

The only way to win, to truly win, was to perform a successful rebellion of the government and then allow freedom to everyone from all oppression like this. She knew the districts outside of the walls were no better off than the tributes were and looking out for number one wasn't going to gain anyone a win here. The gamemakers designed the rules for the tributes to always lose and she knew it.

"I had no intention of being like them. But it's become clear to me that that is not my choice to make." There was a bitter twist to his mouth.

The measure by which victors were chosen here had more to them than a headcount. Victory in the Arena on its own was trifling-- the real question was, who could impress the Capitol the most while giving up the least? Who could keep the most precious memories of their home world out of the screens' clutches with the greatest success? Who could sell them the most excitement for the least actual fear?

Rebellion was a beautiful idea, but unsafe and uncertain. The rules were the Capitol's, and there was no way to play but within them - the only choice they were given was the face they brought to the chessboard. It was the loss of that choice that had the panic still sitting sharp and heavy in Neffa's chest.

"If you keep thinking like that, like you don't have a choice, then you're already falling into their traps. Propaganda like this isn't just made to sway people's opinions, it's to mess with our minds and you're one of their more successful victims now."

She didn't think like Neffa did. She didn't want to win by their rules. The only way to win was to destroy them by her own rules.

Neffa's panic was subsiding, enough for him to regret his outburst. Holiday's disagreement was, in a turned-around way, almost calming - this wasn't an argument of opposing ideologies, it was two people talking entirely past each other. I see what's going on clearer than most of you, the last belligerent part of him wanted to snarl, but reason talked him down. You have enemies. This isn't one of them.

"...Of course. Forgive me." He didn't bother to make the apology less sullen. It was more genuine that way, the apology of one who knew he'd misspoken but didn't like to admit it. "I was... No one like to see himself painted as a murderer."

Holiday chewed her lip and looked away. Really, she shouldn't have gotten heated over it either. "I'm sorry, too. I understand."

In the end, they wanted the same and Holiday could see that. It was just getting there that was the problem.

He acknowledges the apology with a deep, gracious nod, and lets the argument go. He'd been looking for someone to attack for the image on the screen, he sees that now, and the Capitol was simply too distant a target. Stupid.

"You're one of the more fortunate among us," he says, and he keeps his tone light, pointedly tips the conversation away from himself, to something more pleasant. "Your segment was practically flattering."

Holiday can't help the little smile that comes about from that. "I'm not sure I would call real fake blood flattering, but it is nice to be the face of something, I suppose."

"It's a clever trick! They'll all recognize you now." Little children watching with their parents, with their science sets at home-- they'd see her on the screen, her face and the real fake blood. "You could go into talks with them, see about starting a whole line of toys. What's the use of a gross misrepresentation of yourself if you can't profit from it?"

Maybe. She didn't want to get children involved, but they were used to this stuff. Maybe she could gain support that way and some extra benefits on the side.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea. I'll look into it. Thanks."

"It's my pleasure." An escape was imminent. He'd barely managed to salvage his dignity here; gods knew what would happen if someone less forgiving got under his skin this evening. He still felt an idiot for losing himself so thoroughly in front of Holiday.

He smiled, friendly but distracted, and still tinged with apology. "Forgive me-- I'm afraid I'm not quite myself this evening." The Capitol made damn well sure of that. "I think I need to be more drunk than I am, and not in the company of others."

He stood, extended his hand to shake. "You've been very kind, Doctor Holiday. I hope you won't take my words earlier to heart."

She nodded in silence to his apology again. Really, she did understand.

Holiday extends her own hand to shake his. "I won't, Neffa. I understand. ... Will you be okay?"

His smile widens, and he even manages to keep it from going stiff at the edges. It conceals a brief bout of screaming self-doubt. He has no idea if he's going to be okay, or, really, what that even means. He'll regain control of himself, of course. He'll make a new face, to match what the Capitol has given him to work with. And then, however okay he manages to be, he'll be brutally murdered in the arena. What a loaded question.

"I'll be fine," he says, and the smile does not waver. "It's hardly the first injustice visited on me. On all of us." He gives her hand a brief squeeze before he lets go. "I hope you'll be all right, as well."

She nodded. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about that."

Holiday couldn't help but feel like something was stirring, though, and she knew that she wouldn't make it out... But she's okay for now.

"Then I wish you a pleasant evening, Doctor Holiday." He turns to go, but adds over his shoulder, with not a little irony, "May the odds be in your favor." His eyes flick toward the ceiling.briefly-- Gods help us, right?-- and turns to go.

He picks up a full glass of wine from the refreshment table on his way past it-- he fully intends to spend the rest of the evening not being what the Capitol has painted him as. He'll don that face tomorrow-- tonight he'll forget.

The shocking and thrilling adventures!

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