girl!boss {fox}

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

[ ♕ ]

“Ma’am, your meeting--?”

“Yes, yes, I am aware it is soon.”

“I’ve packed you a bag with a note pad, some pens and—“

“Thank you, Lile, but I will not be needing any of those.”

“But ma’am, this meeting—“

Callienta threw her assistant a look to signify the conversation was over. Callie had little faith that this meeting would bear any fruit and yet, it was one of her responsibilities to go to these meetings, to hear all of these desperate people out—“remember, we are also desperate”—and report back to the group of Gamemakers and the Council. Preposterous that donors and financial backers would have so much weight in the Games, but then, Callie never bothered with the financial aspect over the last 2 Games that she had been a head Gamemaker.

“If you do not hear from me in an hour, call me to rescue me from this meeting. Just…make something up.”

She shrugged her robe over her shoulders and briskly walked out of her office, unable to tolerate her open-mouthed assistant any longer. The driver that had been assigned to her made a gesture to walk over to her, but Callie waved her hand as she did every day. She much preferred to walk through the streets, without concern for her safety, and to observe the bright colors of where she lived. With her bright and heavy robes, she always stood out and blended in at the same time. Callie did feel bad that the driver was essentially hired to stand in the building all day, but at least he is getting paid for it.

The meeting wasn’t even far but dread made time move slower and the roads extend longer. She would have much rather spent the day behind her desk, surrounded by pencils and water colors, painting her vision of what the 88th Games would look like. Instead, she was the errand boy of the day, and she had been elected to put on her most personable face. Callie was not a stranger to doing this—it was, after all, how she built and rose in her career—but it always required energy and focus, and she often found herself tiring of it after a week of having ot put on faces.

Finally, she reached her destination. She looked at the door and gave a long exhale before rearranging her face and walked in to see her meeting partner. Callie knew that she would be speaking with Tulip Arsenault, but she was stunned to see how young she looked. Arsenault was a well-known name in the Capitol that came with good, but mostly bad connotations. What was agreed upon was the power the name held, and it was that power that Callie had no interest in being a part of. Still, this was not Aleksander Arsenault that sat before her, and Callie was willing to hear the young woman out.

“Good afternoon. I hope I am not too late.” Callie’s eyes moved between the bodyguards positioned around the young entrepreneur. “What is it that I can do for you?” she asked, removing her robe before taking a seat across the table from the young woman. Straight and to the point, Callie wanted to let Tulip know that she would not partake in pleasantries today. This was a business meeting, and there was no room for any frivolities that was the custom of the people of the Capitol.

--

{ Table credit: foxships }

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

T U L I P

► ► ►

My father had a reputation that preceded him. You did not need to meet him to know your place.

I'm not stupid enough to believe I hold the same illustrious power -- my mother was no one, I had no other family, and if not for Copernicus Fenwick, I'd be dead.

This was always meant to be mine.

But my inheritance had been inlaid with coiled vipers on the precipice of a strike, scales as bright and beguiling as emeralds, looking for a girl to coax into biting their apple. I've never had the pleasure of being stupid. Unfortunately, I have no reputation -- yet.

People see my youth and forget who my father was. Here is my childhood. Here is my diary; here are the insects I've killed and pressed into the pages of my history, hemolymph like ink.

My assistant briefs me on Callienta Minorae again in the car ride to the meeting hall, a buzzing in my ear as I sip some herbal tea, watching the cityscapes glimmer through the bullet-proof windows. The theme of the newest installment of the Hunger Games has yet to be announced and yet sponsors are already lining up for just a slice of screen time.

Despite the calming effects of the beverage my assistant insisted I should have, the thought of Cypress securing a deal for the 88th makes me want to take this tea to his house and spit it in his face.

Bummer we'd be late if I asked for a detour now.

Walking through the ACE conference hall, the body guards position themselves on each side of me. The architectural firm had designed the rooms to be named after famous Capitolites, brass plaques hanging on the doors announcing their significance. We enter the Casca room, spacious and vintage, a dark walnut table in the center, a marble fireplace already lit with sparkling, heatless synthetic fire. Callienta Minorae is six minutes late when she strolls in and takes a seat.

I fucking hate waiting.

She does not extend a hand, and she has come with no one. I wonder if we're going to engage in the give and take of pleasantries, but now she's already speaking.

There's no art here, no needs and wants and desires in the coded language of pliable, intricate steps. I open the folder my assistant placed before me, pulling out a proposition typed neatly on eggshell paper, the ACE monogram on top of each page. He lays a copy in front of Callienta -- details of the advertisements for the Games, outlined second by second.

This is business. Maybe this is even a little boring. I've been to enough parties and galas and wanton exhibits of wealth and beauty in the city to finally be learned in the ways of being all things Capitolite.

Now finally, finally, practiced in the games of dimpled smiles and girlish excitement and tasteful frivolity -- I am denied in flexing my winter of education. Callienta would know everything about soft persuasion in the topography of a gesture. She would know.

An avox brings out blue china and honey and sugar cubes and a steaming pot.

I smile, lean back in the chair. "Please, have some tea. I would love a chat."

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

[ ♕ ]

Callienta’s eyes never left the young girl’s face, measuring her as she was sure Tulip Arsenault was measuring her. Callie had already set the tone for the meeting, refusing to let anyone else take the next step, and it seemed that Tulip understood that this was not a meeting to be filled with pleasantries and buttering the other up. This was strictly business and she did not want her body language to suggest otherwise.

The immaculately put-together folder was placed in front of Callie, and suppressing the chagrin inside of her, she leaned forward to peruse through its contents. There were diagrams, numbers, and tables—all information for a new, wide-eyed intern to run the analytics on to determine if a relationship could be made here. There was maybe a statement or few, but printed words meant little to Callie when she had access to a living, breathing human. Still, she delicately flipped each crisp page to find more than hard facts in this proposition. When she had given each page a glance, she dutifully collected the reviewed papers and placed them neatly back in the folder and closed the folder, making no move to place it in her bag yet.

At some point, as she sped read through the folder, a tray with tea, honey, and sugar was placed on the table, fine china cups accompanying the assortment. Invited to enjoy some tea, Callienta dipped her head toward Tulip in gratitude for the refreshment before freeing her hands from the weight of the robes and reaching for the pot of tea. Her hand gripped the pot softly and firmly before tilting the pot until an amber-color liquid flowed freely from the spout. Steam swirled softly as the liquid filled the cup and Callienta gestured at Tulip to have some tea as well. Finishing school had taught her well.

“Ms. Arsenault, I went into Gamemaking because I wanted to bring a vision to life. I wanted to expand my creativity to create something both beautiful and entertaining. And frankly, I believe advertisements and donors ruin the vision. I can submit this folder—,” she reached down and softly rested her fingers on the folder in front of her, “—to the High Council and it would be approved in an instant because this is the type of relationship they thrive for when it comes to the Games.”

“However, I want to challenge you to do better. Tell me, in your own words and without the business, why I should let you be a part of this vision.”

Callienta sat back in her seat, the saucer in one hand and the cup already to her lips. The tea had cooled to drinking temperature, but she took only small sips to make sure she missed nothing. She kept her face as blank as possible as she waited for an earnest response from Tulip.

--

{ Table credit: foxships }