thecapitol | Kevin's Crowning

Entry tags:

Kevin's Crowning

Who | Everyone.
What | Kevin's Crowning
Where | An outdoor plaza, sectioned off and well guarded.
When | Starting at noon and continuing on until sunset.
Warnings/Notes | This event is mandatory for all Tributes and Victors to attend. Even if you do not tag in, your character will attend this party.

Playful signs began to pop-up all over the Tribute center in the days leading up to the crowning, advertising the mandatory nature of the event itself while also promising an afternoon of delightful festivities. All attendees were loaded onto buses and driven to the location of the picnic, with colorful t-shirts distributed upon their arrival (D1- Navy, D2- Red, D3- Grey, D4- Light blue, D5- Orange, D6- Yellow, D7- Forest green, D8- Royal blue, D9- Purple, D10- Black, D11- Lime green, D12- Hot pink, and White for any Capitol officials in attendance.) Likewise, all the attendees were given name tag stickers and then dispersed out into the plaza. All except guest of honor, Kevin, who was escorted onto the grounds dressed entirely in white and was given a large and ornate golden crown to wear.

Balloons of every color decorated the entire area . Along with picnic tables and benches, a large main stage was erected in the middle of the plaza with a microphone and a DJ, who played the same six songs on repeat. At it's center, Kevin was given a throne to sit on, so that he could preside over the picnic and enjoy his freshly prepared hamburger and french fries.

There were several small tents that ringed the edge of the stage area. Inside a few of them, you might face painters available, but the only design they would do was paint your face to look like Kevin. Anyone who had their face painted was also given an adorable construction paper crown to wear.

In other tents, a few carnival games had been set up for entertainment. There was a shooting range game where the faces of the targets changed to look like you whenever you stepped up to play, as well as skeeball and a rope ladder climb game. All the prizes were stuffed plush dolls reminiscent of famed former victors. All with Kevin's smile.

A bouncy castle that looked a shocking bit like the city hall building found in the last arena was free for anyone to play on. (Complete with fog machine!) And almost directly across the way from the castle, a caged-in area set up to be a ball-pit was also open for all to enjoy. Upon further inspection of the pit filled with thousands of plastic balls, one could clearly see how they had each been painted to look like giant, vacant black eyes.

The only two food options available to attendees were cupcakes and hotdogs. The cupcakes came with sprinkles. The hotdogs also came with sprinkles. The only beverage option was orange juice. And everyone must have a glass of orange juice, otherwise no one can ever leave.

At 2pm, Peacekeepers erected a volleyball net and the Tributes were instructed to play. Anyone who touched the net would get a slight electrical shock. Clearly it was a best to avoid the net.

As the volleyball game came to a close, several officials took the stage with a special announcement. Public polls would be open to all Capitol citizens the following morning to begin casting their votes. Who will be the next tributes to go into the next arena?! Over the next few days, the public will pick their favorites to enter a special bonus arena! Stay tuned for details!

Once the festivities were over and the Tributes were loaded back onto the buses, they would come to notice something new in the lobby of the Tribute Center. On the ceiling above them was a massive crystal chandelier, seven feet across. And it was no ordinary chandelier. It was customized beautifully, in the shape of Kevin's jagged and ever-present smile.

Beneath it, a spread of fine wine and cheeses. A man in a cream yellow suit with cream yellow hair sat at a grand piano in the corner, playing calm and pleasant melodies that might seem almost familiar to some and yet unrecognizable to anyone. Escorts seem to be in no hurry to get tributes back to their towers, and the wine continues to flow late into the night for anyone who lingers around to drink it.

Until next time, tributes. Until next time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Once she has her surprisingly comfy black t-shirt on, Clara's first stop is the snack table, where she decides against getting a sprinkle dog and instead goes with the much safer option of a cupcake. And a cup of orange juice, which doesn't go with it at all, but it's better than nothing.

After that, she meanders around the carnival grounds for a little bit, trying to decide what to do. There's always skee ball, which she's always been pretty good at. Or shooting which...well, at least she didn't end up shooting a fellow Tribute by accident. Eventually the horror of the music gets to be too much and she abandons the games to bury herself in the ball pit in the hope that the plastic balls with block out the sound (they don't, much to her dismay).

The volleyball game brings out something in Clara that she hasn't really shown as much in the Capitol: some competitive ferocity. It's not that she doesn't want to win in the arena, but it's highly unlikely in there. Out here on the other hand? She has a much better chance. Especially considering no one's trying to kill each other (for the most part).

By the time they get back to the Tribute Center, Clara's exhausted. It's not just the physical exhaustion of the day's events, it's also the mental exhaustion of mulling over what they said about the upcoming arena. Though, it's nice to see the wine and cheese spread and she considers it a great chance to unwind after the earlier madness. Which is probably why she spends most of the evening nestled up on a couch with a glass of wine in hand.

Ian much preferred the atmosphere, not to mention the food and drink, back at the Tribute Centre. He sat on a comfortable seat and had a sip of his drink. "This wine is good," he commented to the woman sitting at the other end of the sofa. "I don't know why they're suddenly being so kind as to give us this."

Clara glances at the man, giving him a small nod and a Mmhmm in response to his first comment. "Maybe they've decided they're bored with us and are going to send us home after giving us a proper send off." Yeah, like she really believes that.

He chuckled. "Chance would be a fine thing." Besides, if they were bored with the tributes, they'd be more likely to just kill them all and be done with it. "What's your home like?"

It's a slim chance, but the few times she's let herself believe it, she's been able to sleep through the night.

"It's Detroit," she says as if that explains everything. She really can't think of much to say to elaborate on it at first until something else comes to her and she has a fond little smile on her face, "It's gotten better in the past few years, people have started coming back and the economy's gotten a little better than it was when I was a teenager. It isn't the safest city, but it's home. How about you?"

"London," he replied. "Which is much the same, I imagine." Having never been to Detroit he had to guess about that.

"I'm not sure any city is that safe. When you have a lot of people about there are bound to be some waiting for an opportunity to take advantage of the rest."

"That's a mean thing to say about London. Well, from what I've heard at least, I've never been." From the small smile on her face, it's obvious that she's (mostly) teasing about that first part. "There've been a lot of articles written about how dangerous it is. But it's home and I can't really imagine living anywhere else."

She takes a sip from her glass, trying to shake off the melancholy feeling that's looming over her. "Are most of the crownings like this?"

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splendid_roman - 2014-07-20 20:04 (UTC) - Expand

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The idea of handing firearms, even fake ones, to Tributes still doesn't gel in Buddy's head, but skee ball is something he can get behind. All in all, the picnic seems pretty docile and so while he's still there in a professional capacity, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with mingling. In fact, better know the people you're supposed to be looking after, right? There's got to be something to that mentality, even if the Capitol has never been very big on it.

He remembers Clara only vaguely from footage of the Arena. She's Boo Boo's age, he thinks, or maybe a little bit younger, and it feels a little weird for Buddy to be reminded of his sibling by one of the Tributes. Uncomfortable-weird. Like he's investing too much-weird. It also doesn't help that from what he can remember, she was equally unsuited to the world of forced combat as Boo Boo would be. The greeting he had been preparing dies traitorously, unceremoniously in his throat.

Fortunately, that's when she makes a particularly good play at the game, and the scoreboard lights up, bright, and too cheerful like everything else at the picnic. He finds his footing again in the distraction. "You're good at this, miss. I always manage to clock somebody in the head after the third ball or so."

Clara can't really remember when the last time she played skee ball was. Maybe the last time David had a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese's? Maybe a party he went to that she decided to stick around for after that? She doesn't know. What she does know is that she's in the zone.

And, since she's in the zone, she doesn't notice much happening around her. Oh, sure, she's aware of the horribly annoying music and that there are people milling about, but it's easy enough to block all that out for the time being.

Or it was until she gets the ball into a high scoring pocket and a man suddenly started speaking to her. "Thanks," she responds as she turns to face him with a warm smile. "My son's the same way. I swear, sometimes it seems like he can get the ball everywhere but the pockets. Or the lane he's aiming for, for that matter. I'm Clara by the way." She reaches out, offering a handshake.

"You have a son?" The question comes with a genuine degree of surprise. He hadn't actually gotten a chance to review the files of every single Tribute yet --there were a lot, and frankly, it was easier to start with the ones who had a more problematic history. The idea of throwing mothers into the Arenas doesn't particularly sit well with him, and, actually, only adds to her reminiscence to Boo Boo. Mentally, Buddy makes a note to steer his sister away from any public information about this woman. It wouldn't due to upset her.

The greeting only dawns on him a few seconds after it would have been socially appropriate to respond, but he manages to look suitably chagrined as he offers her a hand to shake. "Web-- Buddy Glass. I'm with the Peacekeepers. Just got transferred back to the Capitol a few weeks ago."

Through the years he's gotten used to introducing himself with an arguably ridiculous name. That's not what bothers him. The revelation of his occupation seems equal parts necessary and inevitable, but until recently it didn't weigh on him quite so much.

"Mmhmm. His name's David. He's eight and has a nose for trouble, but I'm pretty sure all eight year olds do." As always, she's careful about what she says about her son. On one hand, casually mentioning him could possibly bring her sympathy points and sponsors on top of letting her gush about her baby boy for a moment. On the other hand, the idea of the Capitol knowing too much and taking an interest in him chills her to the bone. There are a million things she wants for him, being brought to the Capitol isn't one of them.

The revelation that he's with the Peacekeepers makes her freeze up for a second. From his shirt, she assumed he was some district's escort. After all, he hardly looked like how she assumed most Peacekeepers looked. Almost too quickly, as if to make up for that lost second, she takes his hand and shakes it while a smile that's a little too brittle forms on her face. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Glass," she says, going for formality on the off chance that, deep down, he's no better than Penny or Cruentus.

"So what exactly do the Peacekeepers do in the Capitol anyway?" She realizes just how much that could sound like she's sticking her nose in where she shouldn't. "I mean, the crime rate here seems almost non-existent compared to back home." Of course, she comes from Detroit, so that isn't really saying much.

He doesn't think much on it. There's a certain narrow mentality that comes with living one's entire life under a totalitarian regime that's just so ingrained into Buddy, it almost precludes him from over analysis of everything except for wit and sentimentality. He listens attentively to her as she rambles about her kid (who is, from the sound of it, a kindred spirit to his own siblings at that age, and again to Boo Boo's growing brood), and smiles when it would be appropriate. There's nothing malicious about his attentions. Everything is mild, polite, almost to the point of vague disinterest.

"Mostly it's about having a presence. People see a Peacekeeper and they keep to their business. The crime that exist in the Capitol, when it does exist, is mostly on a corporate level and isn't particularly our jurisdiction. We're about maintaining order amongst the people, you know." Which is kind of a laugh. It's worth something in the Districts, sometimes, but Capitolites take care of their own for the most part, even when they shouldn't. Collectively, at least, people recognize the necessity of the societal machine. "I write copy, myself. Public statements, inter-office memos... Anything that officially comes out of our department at least runs through my office, even if I don't get the final say on it. It's a good thing, too. Some bureaucrats are downright abusive to the English language."

There's a pause in which Buddy almost expects a rebuttal, some argument against the criticism of his coworkers and superiors. He won't be necessarily disappointed if it doesn't come. "My sister has children around your son's age. She's nuts about those kids. It must be hard being away from him."

It's the strangest thing. Clara's tried to avoid talking about David here, partly out of stubbornness and partly out of fear that if the Capitol decided they liked what they heard, the Gamemakers would bring him here. She likes to believe that the Capitol wouldn't go that low by bringing an eight year old with very little in the way of healthy coping methods (something she's become all to aware of) into the Arena, but...well, to say she has serious doubts about that is like saying water is wet. But there's something about Buddy that seems...well, not harmless per se, but less worrisome than most of the other Capitol officials she's encountered here, like she can talk to him about her son without worrying that he'll rally at the Gamemakers to drag David into this for entertainment's sake.

“It sounds like some other places back home,” she says as she rolls another skee ball between her hands, as if warming it up will improve her score any more than if she rolled it up cold. “Though it definitely sounds safer than where Alex and I come from.” Especially considering how many times her husband had come home with cuts or bruises (and that's not even counting the time someone blew him up with a carbomb in their own driveway). “But it's nice to know that bureaucrats stay the same, no matter where you're from.” Clara resists saying so much more, but she doesn't want to risk bringing down the Capitol's wrath on her (or Alex or Dr. Norton's) head because she said something anti-Capitol.

She feels like her heart twists at his observation. She's never been away from David for this long. The longest was when he spent a little less than a week at summer camp last year, and even then, she missed the hell out of her baby boy. The only reason she didn't cry was because it was nice to have some alone time with Alex. This is different. David isn't just a phone call away and Alex keeps putting distance between them and she just wants to go home. She doesn't say any of this, of course, instead Clara throws the ball up the ramp with a sad little smile. “It's very hard. I've never been away from him for this long.” Clara hopes she doesn't sound accusatory saying this. “Do you have any children? Other than nieces and nephews, of course.”

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Hans really doesn't have any interest in submerging himself in the rainbow waves of colourful balls, even if the music is tiresome. He's trained himself to tune out repetitive, irritating sounds. He wouldn't have tolerated Anna so long if he couldn't.

Still, when he sees a mature looking woman begin to bury herself into the pit, he can't help approaching out of curiosity. His brows are furrowed as he leans over, trying to get a better look at her.

"Are you alright, miss?" He tilts his head to the side. "Have you lost something?

Generally, Clara's good at blocking out this kind of stuff. She has an eight year old at home who sometimes watches his cartoons in marathons and occasionally parrots them at her, she can deal with the repetitive and the annoying. But there's something about Who Let The Dogs Out? that gets to her on a visceral level.

Against her better judgement, she sits up and looks at the younger man. "My sanity," she deadpans. "I'm fine, it's just this music...I haven't heard this song since I was a teenager and I was hoping I'd never have to hear it again."

"If you don't mind my saying, I don't think you'll find it in there." It's surprisingly blunt for someone with such a sweet face, particularly when he's still smiling with that polite, princely air. "I'm not sure if I should say I'm lucky to be hearing all of these for the first time, but I'm not sure if any of them could be considered good enough to play so many times." He holds out a hand for her, in case she wants to stand up.

"I don't know, I might be able to find it in here if that noise is slightly muted." Which, admittedly, is silly. But she'll take silly if it works.

But Clara decides to get out of the embarrassment conga line and takes his hand, pulling herself up to her feet. "Most of them are novelty songs from when I was a kid or a teenager. The only one that isn't...well, it's Sinatra, but even Sinatra gets old after a while." And those are words she never thought she'd say.

"I'm Clara, by the way. Clara Murphy."

"If this is what music gets to be like, maybe I don't have to feel so bad about living in the past." That's a lie because it's still a hindrance and annoyance for him, but it's nice to know it has perks. He has no idea who among the songs is Sinatra, so he's not sure what her taste level is as he pulls her to her feet.

"Hans Westergard. I'm a mentor for District Five and it's lovely to meet you."

"Most of it isn't like this." There are some things in this world that are worth defending. Music is definitely one of them. "I think they went through some music catalogs and found five of the worst songs ever recorded and decided to torture us for whatever they think we did."

That isn't a small giggle that Clara lets out, not at all. She isn't easily charmed by princely gentlemen. "Why thank you," she says with a smile. "I'm kind of surprised I haven't seen you around before, since I've popped by Five a number of times to see Alex."

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Joel was never a volleyball person. Oh, he knows how to play, in theory, but it was never his sport. Football was, and then soccer because soccer was Sarah's thing. She never got into volleyball, either.

So it's the worst kind of surreal to be shoved and herded in the direction of a volleyball net. "Jesus Christ," he mutters as a hapless Tribute comes into contact with the net. "Guess they're really enforcing that no touchin' the net rule."

Clara's never been great at volleyball. She was decent at it in gym class in high school and has played it on the beach a few times, but this is kind of out of her comfort zone. Which doesn't make her any less competitive, just less sure of what she was doing.

She glances back and forth between Joel and the unfortunate Tribute that broke the no-touching rule. "The sad thing is, I'm pretty sure they could find a way to make it worse than that."

"Cattle prods," he says immediately, before thinking about it. And then he clamps his mouth shut, because he really doesn't want to give them any ideas. Really really doesn't.

"Used to be, all we had to worry about playin' volleyball was bruises."

"I think they're saving those for whenever they force us to play dodgeball." And good god does she hope they aren't listening to them, because the only thing that can make dodgeball worse is adding more pain.

"It also used to be that the closest things to a death arena was Survivor, but obviously that's changed too."

"Dodgeball ain't even a sport, just an excuse for bullies to hurt people," Joel says with a snort.

"So was Survivor, for that matter." And so are the arenas, but he doesn't say that aloud. He knows what kind of trouble that could get him into. No, he'll keep his commentary to PE class and shitty reality TV.

"Well, you know how they are with their need to take everything to the next level." Which, should anyone ever try to get on her for that comment, is less a criticism of the Capitol and its leaders and more a healthy observation about the way the people here live.

Before she can say much else, the ball comes close and she hits it away, hopefully to someone else on their team. "I'd hate to see what they'd do with a potato sack race."