002 - will you walk into my parlor said the spider to the fly

[neclectus]

Who| Timaeus and you!
What| Ingratiating yourself. Or not.
Where| It's a choose your own adventure! Three locales inside :D
When| After his network post, before the Crowning ceremony
Warnings/Notes| Timmy's a giant creep of the Nice Guy variety. But you already knew that.


PENTHOUSE:
Timaeus's penthouse is large and lavish as you might imagine. To gain entry you will need to use the intercom outside- unless you are one of his very favourite people and he's given you the code. (His code, of course, changes every time he falls out with a friend.) The interior is decorated in a mishmash of styles, though Timaeus tends to favour extensive use of fine dark woods and marble. He owns several old curiosities and has an ever expanding collection of modern conveniences, gadgets and luxuries for the sake of luxury.

OFFICE:
The office you will have seen before on the network. It is white and spacious, with surprisingly minimalist décor- though this is all thrown off by the various models of Nadir Yachting Company boats, interior representations and the like. To gain access here all you have to do is make an appointment with his secretary or turn up and wait. The offices are within walking distance of the lake shore, where Timaeus's personal sailing yacht is moored.

A WILD TRIBUTE APPEARS:
Timaeus does most of his shopping through proxy, but he can occasionally be found being fitted for new clothes, or sampling the latest technological gadget, fastest car, and so on. While he'll be more responsive to people he already knows, as long as he's approached in the right way it's likely he'll be open to a conversation at least.

Comments

PENTHOUSE

[neclectus]

Timaeus poured himself a tall glass of something refreshing and mildly alcoholic, pulling his jacket off and resting it over the back of a chair as he padded through to the lounge, flicking on the screen and sinking into into the low, leather couch with a contented sigh. He was expecting company, true, but there was no harm in relaxing a little after the long day he'd had at the office. He was quite certain if he'd stayed there a moment longer he would have had some kind of aneyurism- the incompetency of some of the staff when coupled with his father's obstinancy was enough to drive anyone mad, if not give them some kind of stress-related medical condition.
It wasn't long after he'd finished his drink that the intercom sounded, though- and sweeping to his feet he went to the door to answer in person. It was the polite thing to do.

[mediumdrip]

Blaine had requested before hand that Timaeus at least give him access to some sort of piano in order to properly play. He wasn't sure if that meant an actual piano or some kind of eletric keyboard and he didn't know if they'd be able to do this here or if they'd have to go somewhere else. He figured all of those details could be explained once he was with Timaeus.

He had some music books with him when he arrived at the sponsor's pent house. He was understandably nervous, especially considering what Eva had implied about sponsors. He had made up his mind to treat this like any other performance though, so instead of fretting too much or being visibly shaken he just rocked on his feet for a moment before pressing the button to request to be brought in.

He had been the one who had suggested he play music for Timaeus to compare to the modern music of Panem. This had been his idea so he couldn't back down now.

[neclectus]

Once he'd buzzed him in and opened the door, Timaeus greeted Blaine warmly, his hand stretched out for a firm, hearty shake.
"So glad you could make it, my friend. Please, come in, make yourself at home. Can I get you a drink?"

[mediumdrip]

Blaine felt more at ease as Timaeus greeted him warmly. Maybe he wasn't one of the type that Eva had warned him about. He smiled back, giving the older man the most charming smile he could.

"Water is good for me," he said. "Thank you."

[marcato]

He arrives with a clock. Wooden. Elegant. Wrapped in a blue ribbon. The edges of its frame are curled inwards and upwards like burning paper, and its face flickers orange and gold and red like a forest fire. It's the kind of clock that is beautiful, so beautiful, but it could also stare at you from across a darkened room like the single glowing eye of some great beast.

Aunamee dresses well to make up for the exhaustion in his eyes and the pallor in his skin. When Timaeus is at the door, he stands up tall, proud, the clock resting against his chest.

"My friend," he says.

He feels the word with his tongue.

[neclectus]

"Come in, come in- goodness, there was no need," he exclaims, his eyes bright with excitement and a strange joy at not only hearing that title bestowed on him but the unexpected addition of a gift- well. He's thrilled, in the original sense of the word, his delight vibrating through his senses as he beckons Aunamee inside.

"I'm glad you found me without too much difficulty," he adds, brightly. "It's good to see you looking so much better."

[marcato]

Aunamee is barely inside before his foot locks around Timaeus' ankle and his body pitches forward, one arm curled around the clock and the other wrapping around Timaeus' shoulders, his fingers settling on the back of his scalp. In another context (in his usual context) this could be a violent attack, a crafted dance of death. But his eyes are bright. His lips are pursed.

Passion, after all, is only second to murder.

"Do I look better?" he asks, his voice soft, his breath hot. He pulls Timaeus close like a spider pulling in a fly. "Do I look like I'm ready to fight again?"

The weeks after his recovery have done nothing to ebb his anger, that strange energy that has been resonating in his limbs since he awoke from his last arena. But Timaeus is not a Grey, not a Wesker, not a Hyperion. He is the kind of man that makes anger blossom into something all-together different, something like giddiness. Desperation. His voice shakes when he speaks, and his pulse rolls in his neck.

[shambler]

His Escort nearly (prettily) swooned in delight when R received the invite to Timaeus's penthouse. Maybe, just maybe, things were turning around for you!, she gushed.

R wasn't so sure about that. But he liked Timaeus and they'd had a good conversation back on that big, oversized boat of his and he'd given him that little note R still kept on him wherever he went. The letters were still a mystery, blurring together before his eyes, but he knew what it said and that was good enough. R had it in his pocket as he shuffled in there with his shoulders sagging into Timaeus's penthouse, watching him from behind the muzzle - today it was a delicate shade of green, smooth lines instead of the shark's teeth from before. His Escort actually tried to go subtle.

The zombie tried to remember what he should say now. Be polite, right? Pleases and stuff, elbows off the table except he wasn't at one. R hurriedly stopped gaping at the penthouse, focusing on Timaeus.

"Thanks for...invite...ing me," he wheezed.

[neclectus]

Timaeus welcomed the zombie inside with a bright smile, laughing delightedly at his mumbled gratitude for the invitation. He was rather taken with R's latest muzzle- quite a delicate affair, today, in a very pleasant shade. Rather fetching, really.

"Oh, no, thank you for coming. I'm sure you must be really very busy, but I remembered you'd had an interest in old music... Do, please, this way..."

[shambler]

"Could use...break from...grrind," R said. And by daily grind, he meant constantly being fitted and refitted for new outfits, and scolded every time he tried to scare off the stylists with a snarl (it didn't work. One of them actually giggled he was being "cute").

The zombie followed Timaeus, trying to do his best to lurch in a straight line and not ogle too much at the penthouse.

TL;DR INCOMING

[lessthanelementary]

He found parchment, or something close to it - something that looked handmade, anyway, and that was as good as he could expect. Locks did not keep out cameras, but he locked his suite door anyway, the afternoon before his appointment with Timaeus, for the illusion of privacy (meaning stretches thin between many eyes, Bela had always said). It was an appointment, too-- not a meeting, not a visit. Customers are customers.

On the first sheet of paper he painted all twenty-three signs, in order, with their names written beneath them-- from the common placeholder fire to the jagged, seldom-used forever, the twenty-three blocks out of which all good contracts were built. He recited the First Contract under his breath as he worked, down to the finest print, and when he was done, he rolled up the paper and put it in one of his suite's wardrobes, wrapped in a cloak of feathers and false white fur.

The blocks of wood Timaeus had had delivered to him were good; a knife wasn't hard to find. Neffa sat up most of the night with the windowscreens turned to an almost-adequate facsimile of a starry sky (stars are the Lady's eyes, and the Lady keeps the world's secrets), and he carved a block of ash into a short, thick rod, just slim enough to close his fingers around, the length of his hand from heel to fingertips. That was three hours; the next four were the signs, the pleasing, protective curves and symmetrical corners, the invitation to the wandering spirit to fold itself into the wood and to ricochet back out at his request. When even his false night sky was beginning to blur gold at the edges, he examined the finished conduit, and thought with pride that two months and a violent death hadn't taken his touch from him. It was beautiful.

Then he dug the knife into the smooth bottom face of the cylinder and carved, jagged and final, the eighteenth sign: nullify.

The block of cedar he put with his map of twenty-three signs, for another day. The blank sheet of parchment, the little canisters of paint in black, blue, white, and gold, and the carved ash block, he tucked into a satchel and brought with him. He kept a protective hand over it even as he puzzled out the intercom (the fourth button he tried got him Timaeus's voice, which he took as a sign that he was improving). He probably looked like he'd been up all night, even through his stylist's attempts to cover the circles under his eyes, he thought; but, well, when the excuse was a legitimate magical working, he rather hoped it would only heighten the effect he was determined to make.

[neclectus]

Neffa seemed to be struggling with the intercom, which Timaeus found oddly endearing- he found Neffa endearing in general, if he was honest. After informing him that the door would be open over the intercom he stood waiting, a wide, affectionate smile on his face.

"Neffa, my friend. Please- please, come in. You look exhausted- can I get you anything?"

[lessthanelementary]

The open door was a relief. There was only so much technology he was willing to battle with to get into someone's apartment. A tired smile broke onto his face when he saw Timaeus waiting by the door - it was nice to be expected.

He rather missed his opportunity at a warm greeting - the penthouse distracted him. He tried his best not to gawk at the room he entered into, to give it just a sweeping once-over, but his eyes kept getting stuck on things - on what kind of stone is that and the trimmings alone must have cost a fortune and gods, what use could that possibly have - and the silence between Timaeus's question and Neffa's answer was a good few seconds too long.

"--er. Coffee." He tore his eyes away from a sleek device whose purpose he could not begin to guess, grinned apologetically. "That is-- if you've got it. Sorry--" He paused, lost himself briefly squinting at something moving mechanically in another room, gave up, started over. "...You live here?"

OFFICE

[neclectus]

Some days, Timaeus wished he could drop a bomb on his own office, and this was one of them. His father had vetoed yet another perfectly sensible suggestion, and some idiot in marketing had misspelt 'Ascendant' on the ceremonial nameplate they were due to have added to the display at the sales office. Then there was the pesky matter of the missing items that he was quite certain had been stolen from the flagship during the party he'd hosted for the Tributes. There was some gratitude for you. He'd have to remember to add that to the little complaint he was drafting over the behaviour of some of the guests of the Capitol.
His secretary buzzed through.
"Ah, yes, send them in," he said, leaning back in his chair. Well, this would be a welcome break...

Re: OFFICE

[riptheseams]

She hated this part of her job. No - wait. She hated her whole job. But Calico especially hated having to creep to the wealthy members of the Capitol to get them to sponsor her Tributes. And District 8 were severely lagging in the whole 'winning' department.

So she had sucked it up. Dressed in her 'business suit' and five inch heels - which at least gave the illusion of her being tall - she turned up to the office, a basket of muffins in hand to try to sweeten Timaeus up. She was unsure; she had never approached Timaeus before. But he had certainly stepped up his public profile in these new Games, throwing the lavish parties and whatnot. And so soon after her experiences with Petraites - or her drug binge. Whatever Timaeus had heard; both rumours were circulating about her recent disappearance. But - it didn't dwell to do on such things and business, after all, had to go on.

She had done her makeup carefully and she bounced into his office now, her usual big grin on her face.

"Timmy, darrrrrrrrrling. How lovely of you to see me!"

[neclectus]

He smiled broadly, leaning toward her and gesturing to the chair opposite. "Oh, I always have time for you, my dear, especially when you're helping me break up such a dull day. What can I help you with today?"

[gruesome]

Some wasn't so sure about visiting Timaeus's office; even in the little he'd spoken to him by the network, it was excruciatingly bright. So he'd asked his stylist for something shielding, and now he had a sort of shawl of dark gray, sheer cloth with a deep hood that shaded all of his eyes without obscuring any of them. Well, not much.

When the person at the desk told him, with a nervous stare, to go right up, Some meekly took the elevator, doing his best not to slink. There were places the citizens expected to see him, and the staring there was one thing. Here, it made him feel as if he had committed some error in being here. Even invited.

[neclectus]

Timaeus stood to greet the grue, all smiles and broad, expansive gestures, offering him a hand to shake. He did know what to do with it, didn't he? "Ah, Some! I am glad you could make it. Please, come on in. I may have found somewhere suitable."

SHOPPING

[neclectus]

"No, I think a little shorter in the sleeve." Timaeus was saying, a little sharply. "I want to wear it with a shirt with cufflinks."
This was the last time, he decided, that he'd be bothering to come out in person for a fitting. In future, he'd demand they come by the office. At least he had a few other things in mind to look at before attending the Sponsor's get-together a few of his friends had arranged- at least the day wouldn't be completely soured. Why couldn't people just listen?
"Shorter, yes. Like that. Thank you."

[tis_allgood]

A man yelling at people to do things for him was a man of means and Cuthbert had been meaning to get in with some of those. He knocked some of the dust off the ridiculous outfit he'd been put in when he left earlier and approached carefully.

"The color suits you, sai, if you don't mind me saying."

He tipped his hat to Timaeus in greeting.

[neclectus]

He smiled, offering a polite nod in return. "So I'm told. Thank you, Mr-- You must be one of the new Tributes?"

[savedbyasong]

In a quieter corner of the shop Shion sat with a notebook and pen in hand, though the page was empty. He really wasn't sure if this was really a lesson or a bizarre punishment but his stylist had told him he should learn that even those of the capitol had to keep up appearances and adhere to style, coupled with his escort suggesting that Shion might be able to engage better in the process if he had a better understanding of how it all worked outside of the tribute tower.

Really Shion thought they were just angry he was still refusing to dye his hair; he doubted he would get away with that for much longer, and his escort wanted him out of her hair.

Either way he was sat being confused, wearing a loose shirt, dark trousers and a wide brimmed hat; which was on the seat next to him.

"What are cufflinks..." He spoke out loud, though it was mostly to himself. He was supposed to be not making a nuisance of himself.

[neclectus]

Timaeus raised an eyebrow- noticing probably for the first time that he had a little more of an audience than he'd expected.
"Are you lost?" he asked, slightly huffily- though his expression softened as he heard the words leave his mouth. Not exactly polite, though there was no taking them back now. He smiled.

[arachnoble]

Sybille doesn't go shopping that often. She's a fan of fashion and she loves getting new clothing, but she's a busy woman. Or, well, she kept herself busy, but that had been before she had to be responsible for all of these strange tributes.

Today, though, she's going to take a break and simply enjoy himself. So when she sees Timaeus she's...conflicted. On the one hand, he's a powerful sponsor who could make her job easier. But on the other, she wanted to spend today to herself.

Sigh.

"I think that's a fine length already, Mr. Nadir."

[neclectus]

Timaeus looked over in surprise- he really wasn't used to being contradicted, and certainly not by strangers- but then again, she wasn't quite a stranger, was she? He recognised the face from somewhere, though he couldn't quite place it.

"Oh, I'm certain it would be with this shirt, but I have a rather excellent one I picked up elsewhere I wanted to wear it with," he explained, trying not to look too curious. Why couldn't he remember who she was?