threadthefire | 19th Design [video]

That leaves one question, Cinna. Where is your shop?

And for that matter, where are we?

Portia, darling, welcome to the City. My shop is off the square, where are you?

Near an extravagant fountain. It's lovely.

I'm beginning to think this is a dream though. That would be the only explanation, wouldn't it?

Or that I've lost my mind.

It's a common thought for those who have just arrived. But I assure you, you are as sane as when we last saw each other, whenever that was.

That's some relief. I guess I'll have to take it.

Off which corner of this square, Cinna? Your shop, that is.

Southeastern.

[ooc: I'm guessing because I'm not somewhere I can look it up easily atm.]

Then I'll be there shortly.

[ooc: Works for me!]

I'll await with baited breath.

[ Portia arrives, simple black satchel over her shoulder, brushing some stray hair behind her ear as she enters the shop, her smile deepening. It looks like Cinna, this place, and that in and of itself makes it familiar to her - the way a friend is. ]

Portia!

[Cinna gives her a wave as he approaches, a smile of his own on his face. He's had an eye out for her since the last transmission and he has to admit, of all the people that could have arrived, Portia is one of the most welcome.

Kissing her on the cheek, he offers her his arm.]

Come, we can go to my office, it will be quieter there, we can catch up.

Cinna.

[ She returns the kiss and maybe her relief at seeing him is there when she lays her hand on his offered arm, fingers not clutching but certainly curling lightly. This place is strange and she hadn't known what to think. Part of her still supposes she could be dreaming. In all the Capitol she has never seen a way that an entire city could be hidden. ]

You seem almost...at home here.

[ Her glance is sidelong, inquiring but kind - wanting to just know what he's been up to - the slight lightness she thinks she sees in him. ]

I suppose I am, the hazards of having been here almost a year now.

[He steers her though the crowd with ease, wanting to get her somewhere private where they might talk more freely. And if there's a lightness, it's unknown to him on this day when he's talking to an executed man on one line and meeting her on another.]

It's a long story, my dear. I promise I'll get to it as I can.

[ Portia has no idea that Cinna has been speaking to Seneca Crane, though did she know that would be something else to contend with, concerning their location and what it means in correlation with where they come from. She follows him easily, her frame naturally giving way to his the fashion in which a dance is led - not the steps but a similar fluidity that comes of often sharing the same space. ]

Almost a year. [ She repeats under her breath and watches him for some sign of a joke and when she doesn't see one she simply stays quiet, waiting until they reach his office quarters. ]

[He opens the door for her with a slight flourish.]

Welcome, to my home away from home. Personal workspace and office.

[Inside is everything she would expect, dress forms, bolts a fabric semi-neatly arranged on racks, bits and pieces of finished products and a small rack of what will be personally-adjusted pieces.]

Can I order you something from the cafe downstairs? They'll bring it right up.

[He's already removed his jacket, leaving just the dark vest and slacks.]

Very you. This entire place is.

[ Predictably perhaps, Portia goes straight to the to-be-adjusted pieces, head tilting as she examines one of them with careful eyes and fingers. ]

I'm not very hungry. More...confused, to be honest. [ Her hand pauses on the cloth and she turns back to face him again, brows lifted. ] Almost a year. Cinna, what is this place?

Why hadn't I noticed you were missing?

[ Her eyes ask without her voice needing to: is this some trick of the Capitol?

Do they know? ]

As I understand it, when I am eventually returned, it will be to the exact moment I was taken and with no memory of having been here.

[He runs a hand through his normally perfectly groomed hair.]

This place is... a way station. People are bought here, from different... worlds even, and we live. As best we can until we're returned. And amazingly enough, the bloody Capitol has nothing to do with it.

[ For a long while she just stares at him. Cinna sounds perfectly serious and she's worked with him long enough to know how to tell otherwise, but still she lifts a hand to her forehead, and then walks over, lifting her other hand to do the same to his. No temperature. ]

You're telling the truth, insofar as you know it. Aren't you.

[ The reason it doesn't sound like a question is because Portia has already more or less decided to believe him. It's hard not to. ]

[He takes the hand and presses a kiss to the knuckles.]

As serious as a heart attack, as people have said here. It's what I've been told by people I've come to trust. [And perhaps even love. But that's not something he's looking at too closely.]

The Capitol has no power here. Katniss and Peeta are both here, as is Finnick Odair and little Rue... and here they're all free of it. No Games. No one here to make them do anything but what they'd like to do. [And she's probably known him long enough to recognize true joy in his eyes at that thought.]

Edited 2011-06-19 00:16 (UTC)

[ In Cinna's eyes Portia sees a sentiment, but it's more than that; as with most things concerning Cinna, what she observes is a vision. She can see as clearly as if he had told her, that idea of a world where this is true, not some other place but the world they know, a Panem not shackled to strange, affluently barbaric priorities. Where children die because of the politics in play and the survivors aren't much better off; she thinks of Finnick Odair and it's only the kiss to her hand that keeps her from closing her eyes against the thought. They're all too young for this, she has always thought - the children, yes, but even them - Cinna and her.

Maybe everyone who has a glimmer of interest in things functioning some other way, a better way.

Her smile is still saturated with other thoughts, not heavy but palpably at work, her mind turning as she adjusts her hand inside of his. ]

This really is a kind of dream then.

[ She wouldn't insult him by meaning 'literally', but in that abstract sense, the idyllic sort? She means it very much. ]

It is.

[He gives her hand a squeeze before releasing it to go look out his windows.]

It has it's little nightmares to be true, if you're here longer than two days I'll give you all the details, but you may not be here that long. That said, you should come to dinner. I'll see if I can track down Katniss, drag Peeta out of the bakery.

[He pauses, snickering as he looks back at her.] Finnick might be a bit difficult, he gets caught up in the crowds. [Or, if there's grace in this world, he'll have Annie with him for the weekend again. He deserves that much at least.]

[ Her gaze follows his movement, and she rests her lowered hand on the edge of the main desk, her head tilting slightly. ]

In a place where he doesn't have to be trapped in a trade any more than another set of Games...I'm surprised he's still doing that.

[ She pauses and then shakes her head, laughs a little quietly at herself. ] Well, no I'm not. He's good at it and he likes it. Maybe it's better here. He can make whatever he likes.

[ At the mention of Finnick again she arches a brow and walks over to stand at Cinna's side. They have often been like this, whether watching fires or at parties where the smiles never seemed to meet the guests' eyes. ] Is he expecting someone?

He's brilliant at it, and makes a good living, supports Finnick, but you didn't hear that from me.

[He smirks, giving her a wink. After all, imagining a young man like Peeta supporting Finnick Odair is amusing on any number of levels.]

He and I support all of them I guess. Katniss, Rue as well... But Finnick, if he's lucky, there's someone from home that will be able to spend time with him these next two days.

[And he trails off, wondering how to ask when, exactly Portia was from. How much does she know? What have they been trusting each other with? Finally, he decides to just ask it.]

What's the last thing that happened to you, Portia, when are you from?

[ His wink is something she laughs lightly at, in good nature, and the rest she listens to and garners what she can from the bit about Finnick. She has her guesses but it doesn't seem like her business to say it out loud, so she doesn't, instead pausing when Cinna asks her his own question.

Her brow pinches briefly before she says, with some care: ]

Well. It was the Victory Tour.

[ But somehow that doesn't seem important because she quickly gleans a question for him, asks it: ]

What about you?

[He almost flinches, the Tour feels like a lifetime ago. A hopeful lifetime when he could still hold onto the idea, however thin, that Katniss and Peeta had survived, that they would still have full lives ahead of themselves.]

After. In the Capitol for the Quell.

[And what little mirth he'd had in his voice drains out and is replaced with a hardness she may not be as familiar with. A lot changed between the Tour and the Quell, including him and what he's willing to sacrifice.]

[ Her throat closes for a second. A shift takes place in Cinna, evident in him though he doesn't have to say anything else for her to sense the other underlying difficulty as well. She just doesn't know the direct source and it bothers her - as it should. They are partners in what they do, who they tried to protect by making them memorable - desirable not just aesthetically but in story.

The way Cinna looks now, she can't explain it but her gut wrenches like all that's fallen apart and she reaches a hand out to encircle his wrist. ]

What's the part you're not telling me? I'll find out eventually anyway.

19th Design [video]

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