queller | Open RP post

[ During the Games, the mentors spend most of their time in the Viewing Room, mingling with sponsors, generally powerless to do anything but watch their tributes die. Directly outside of the Viewing Room, a pod of miniature conference rooms large enough for no more than two or three people at a time line the hall. Used mostly for forming alliances or sneaking naps, they're mentor-use only and therefore a safe haven from prying eyes and hands of Capitolites.

Cashmere bursts into the room, and takes a few moments to get her bearings before realizing Johanna's already there. ] Fuck.

[ The Games are particularly bloody this year, and her chest had tightened as she watched the boy from Four try to scrub the blood off his hands in the murky river water. Her hands itched, remembering her own failed attempts to do the same. In the end she has to look away, and when that doesn't help she murmurs an excuse and barrelled out of the party in search of someplace more quiet. Instead she finds Johanna. Not about to be caught in a vulnerable moment, she straightens and flips her hair over one shoulder. ]

You really should go do something about Blight, he's embarrassing you. [ Johanna's shy district partner is currently surrounded by some Capitol floozys, but they seem to like his bashfulness. ]

From:

queller

[Johanna's eyes nearly roll straight back into her head as she turns to face the intruder fully. She's all bluster, looking bothered as it gets by someone barging in on her, but like all the others she has a grim expression and an almost sickly look.]

Way to make an entrance. I'm so impressed.

[Her voice rings hollow, not half the jauntiness one might expect from this firecracker of a woman. It's instead tinged with that resignation to the horror they always witness, always contribute to. She's already lost one of hers; he never had a chance.]

And he's always doing that. He couldn't handle a crowd even with some kind of extreme Capitol-coached etiquette lessons.

[Looking Cashmere over, Johanna lets her shoulders droop ever so slightly before scoffing and taking her seat again, half-dead eyes staring almost through the replay of her charge's death.]

From:

64th

[ Cashmere looks cross, like it's her privacy that's been disturbed instead of the other way around. ] Sorry, no autographs.

[ For a moment she considers storming back out, but instead Cashmere flops onto the couch. She's exhausted - aren't they all? She can't bring herself to eat at the parties, so by the end of the night that will hit her too. Starving, she's heard the Capitolites describe it, evidence that they've never had real hunger - and by comparison to the poorer districts, neither has Cashmere. ]

Well good luck. You'll need it. [ Actually, she likes Blight quite a bit but it doesn't do well for her imagine to get buddy-buddy with him. Her eyes drift to the TV and no matter how much she wants to look away, she can't. Her tone softens. ] Your kid - did you know him before?

From:

queller

I don't want an autograph. And thankfully nobody wants mine. [Her voice drips with a forced poison. There's more she has to add to that, but at the end she honestly just trails off and tries not to be sick. This pomp and circumstance is annoying. It will always be annoying, always has been. She'll never stop hating the fact that once a year they parade around the fact that she was---is--a successful murderer. How delightful, to be a Victor.

There's a bottle of something nearby, forgotten, now warm, and an uneaten plate of pastries on the table in front of the couch. When Cashmere settles in, Johanna almost seems to retreat back into the couch, slouching slightly and putting her feet up on the table with such swiftness and carelessness that it almost upends the plate. She cuts her eyes toward Cashmere, holding back a scoff that she knows can't even hide the disgust, the pain.]

Did I know him before the reaping? [There's a pause as another death flashes on screen before them in the highest definition.] I try not to know any of them. Easier that way. Not like you and yours.

From:

64th

[ Autographs are, honestly, near the top of her list of things she hates. Smiling and signing photos of herself from a time she would honestly rather forget. And the shit people say, how she was their favorite, how the loved when she killed the crocodile, and they cried when she cried about her partner.

Like you and yours. She rolls her eyes at that, but it's true. One is small, the tribute academy even smaller. Being a Victor there is an honor and though they don't work they are expected to contribute to the training process. She always knows them. ] Amethyst's parents live next door to mine. [ Not that Johanna asked, but she offers anyway. Yeah, it's hard to watch kids she used to babysit die but they still think they want this and Cashmere lets them want it. Encourages it. She doesn't think they'd believe her if she told them the truth about winning. So why bother? ] She's always been pretty. [ Cashmere hopes she dies. ]

From:

queller

[Johanna agrees wholeheartedly on the autographs business. Screw that kind of fame. She'd prefer to be left alone, to be so universally feared for what she did than admired for it. But that isn't and never will be how it works. And there will always be the careers, and there will always be the underdogs. Johanna went into this one knowing she had two hopeless cases, and it turned her stomach. She was more than thankful that Blight took one on, but the boy had been so hopeless. She tried. She honestly tried.

What can you do, though?]

That sounds completely bizarre coming from you.

[Maybe a corner of Johanna's lips twitches up for a moment, amused. She bets anything Cashmere doesn't want the competition.]

From:

64th

[ That makes her laugh sharply. Cashmere's praise is rare, even for her tributes (perhaps, especially for her tributes). It's less of a compliment this time, an observation and a warning. If Amethyst wins she'll wind up just like the rest of them. Beauty is power in the Capitol, unless you are a victor. Then it's a canyon of vulnerability, hundreds of miles wide. ]

Well she's a cocky bitch, too, but you already knew that. [ And yet, not entirely unlikable. There is a part of her that fears the ones who end up like her will eclipse her. Cashmere's survival is dependent largely on the Capitol's admiration for her. If they move on to loving someone else, what will happen to her? ]

From:

queller

Well, maybe she'll win and make you all so proud.

[Johanna slumps just a little more into the couch before checking herself and leaning forward to straighten out her back. It's a good opportunity to look away from the TV, right as someone picks up an axe. Ah, yes. That takes her back. Bad thoughts.]

She had good numbers, and everyone loves her sweet little face.

From:

64th

Nothing like watching a little girl's dream come true. [ Looks like it's going to be a bloody night. The Capitol is going to be thrilled - that axe is a thousand times more interesting than watching the Career pack eat dinner. ]

I know somebody else who used to have a sweet little face. [ She shoots a look at Johanna. The Careers never play weak - they don't even usually downplay their strengths. So little Johanna pretending to be so frightened, so harmless - Cashmere won't forget that for a long time. ]

From:

queller

We all had dreams.

[More dull sarcasm as that axe's blade glints, carried with such determination... But she looks over just in time to catch that look. Cashmere has her pegged. That's how it had to be, sweet, innocent, perfectly vulnerable until chaos and blood and fear and death. Careers have it easy. Johanna had to do what she had to do. Maybe in a way she once envied the Careers, their willingness to do anything, their fearlessness. They'd never die in the eyes of their Districts. They'd be martyrs or some bullshit.]

How did it feel? I mean when you picked up the first weapon, how did that seriously feel? Did you want to use it or did you just need to?

From:

threader

Would you please stop ripping your dresses off? Your stylists keep running down to our floor in tears.

From:

queller

I'm only going to wear them once, so what's the problem?

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