thecapitol | The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

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The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of Clara Murphy
Where| A refurbished former-medical building within Capitol.
When| Starting from late afternoon, going into the evening and late night.
Warnings/Notes| Don't forget, peacekeepers are on high alert and will notice any rebellious activity or odd behaviour.

The theme of the ceremony is corruption and dystopia, with a distinct nod to futuristic aspects and, of course, robots. The room is stark, clean, and foreboding, all done in metallics, crisp whites, and the occasional bit of robotics set up as art. It speaks as an unholy cross between a medical office, a military base, and an extremely well kept prison.

The ceremony is both a chance for Capitolites to have fun and be grateful for the grand and glorious Panem which in no way exemplifies any attributes of dystopia, while also working as a not so subtle reminder to the troublemakers out there of what can happen when things get out of line. Which they surely won't, with all the peacekeepers around.

Tributes are dressed in all manner of thing incorporating chains, rope, caution tape, muzzles, bars and cages, prison stripes, and uniform orange-- all things reminiscent of imprisonment and restriction. Some tributes may be made to look scuffed up, like cartoon-ish depictions of hardened thugs. There are a few references to robotics, and that of evil and corrupt military men and police officers, but all tributes will be marked by some manner of cuff or chain that clearly denotes them as “criminals”.

They’ll also be given a “prison number” that is actually indicative of their district association and an arbitrary letter next to it, for example, someone from district six will have 06 and the first letter of their name. It will be temporarily tattooed somewhere visible on their skin. It can be washed off but it will take more scrubbing than would be done in a single day, let alone a crowning.

The only exceptions to these rules, are those who have been brought to the winner’s table; all those who can be deemed as cyborgs, scientists, and of course, the victor herself. Her throne sits at the head of the table, a robotic contraption that appears almost as though it might encase her. For a crown, Clara has been given one that seems to bear resemblance to a white picket fence, which, when made into a crown, looks far sharper than the idyllic home setting it’s meant to represent.

Avoxes are all dressed as members of the corrupt Detroit military police. The uniforms are naturally given a more sinister edge. None of them are comfortable. All of them are serving “Detriotto” staple foods.

Around the crowning, flat hologram projections of hockey games can be seen. They show the games of a team called “The Rouge Wings” and alternate that with the less spectacular showings of what appears to be a young boy’s hockey team. Commercials fill the times between promoting the work of Capitol’s peacekeepers, showing appreciation for them on an individual level, encouraging obedience in citizens with pleasant clips of peacekeepers speaking to children, and suggesting recruitment in the truly good and noble of Panem. Capitolites may nod along to these as they giggle at the sight of decorative signs, that are most certainly from Clara’s lesser world, about obeying, consuming, and so on, to a less than favourable government. A few posters feature Clara Murphy’s face in four colour palettes, all humorous jabs at dystopia proclaiming; “MOTHER MURPHY IS WATCHING YOU”.

But hockey games are not the only things that can be seen on the projection screens; if tributes take the time to look, they may see their own face projected above in profile and facing forward views like that of mug shots. Though, how the capitol has managed to get these pictures may be entirely a mystery. Besides these mugshots, criminal records are displayed, listing crimes from “lied to their parents” to petty theft to murder. Whether these records are true or not may be up for much debate.

In the mean time, there are plenty of things for party go-ers to do, such as take part in the David For A Day egg and spoon race, in which tributes will all have a chance to dress up (with wigs and matching clothing of all sizes!) as the mysterious David, compete against others, and should they win, be dubbed David For A Day, winning themselves a banner they can wear and a spot at the victor table.

There is also an obstacle course available dubbed the "Clarence Boddicker Memorial Prison Funhouse" designed to look, you guessed it, like a prison. Fun for all ages and demeanours!

For those looking for retreat, there’s a small section cut away from it all, designed to be a pleasant backyard patio setting opened to a starry night sky and small surrounding garden, in stark contrast to the rest of the place. There’s a small area for dancing in, that can really only accommodate one couple at a time, but is nevertheless perfect for a romantic scene. Only two songs play over speakers here, one perfectly fitting, the other a little more jarring. It’s also here that party go-ers can get their picture taken with a life sized ED-209. Many more much smaller ED-209’s can be seen around and within the crowning party. As well as the occasional roomba, which fans of the last arena will surely get a chuckle out of.

As the crowning nears it’s end, those at the victor’s table will be given paintball guns filled up with red paint. They will be ordered to bring the criminals to justice! The criminals being all the other tributes. Those hit with paint will be made to wait within the Memorial Prison Funhouse until all the criminals are apprehended and forced to do their time! No one will be allowed to go back to the tribute tower until all the criminals are caught.

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Also in the porch section, beside the music, is a giant robot looking machine. If tributes wanted to they could have their photos taken with it.

Clementine doesn't want that but she is peering curiously at the hulking metal contraption, which puts her near the huge mulleted man currently smoking on the porch as she examines it. When she see's her Clementine's going to have ask Clara for an explanation about this stuff.

She thinks this robot's just a model, she hopes it's just a model because dealing with something as big as that would be completely un-fun. Actually... this is the Capitol, they might just activate it for fun to scare all the tributes at the end of the day.

That thought has her cautiously stepping backwards and forgetting how close the porch was she ends up catching her foot and falling back on it. "Darn it!"

So lost in thought, Brock barely even registered the little girl looking at the robot nearby. He barely even noticed the robot, for that matter; he's so used to that kind of stuff by now that it usually doesn't even cross his mind. If somebody would have sat him down thirty years ago and told him he was going to think robots were old hat at some point in his life, he would have laughed. Or he would have thought it was the coolest thing ever.

All in all, and especially despite this particular clusterfuck of a detour into the murder orgy dimension, Brock's life is pretty cool.

When the girl trips, he blinks and looks over. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he bends over and offers her a hand. "Hey. You okay?"

That was clumsy and now that she realises someone noticed, embarassing.

Clementine looks up, and up, at the giant of a man standing over her and offering her a hand up. Wow... she wasn't sure even Thor was as big as this guy. When she reaches up to accept the hand his pretty much swallows her small one up. "Thanks, I'm okay. Just injured my pride."

She'll blame the odd shoes if anyone asks.

Wow, okay. She's really little. Twelve, maybe? Jesus. Brock has seen kids around in the Training Center, and some out in the busier section of the party, but she's the youngest so far. As he helps her up, he suddenly feels a little sick.

"You should be more careful," he says lightly, easily falling into the tired and true Brock Samson, Babysitter routine. If she trips so easily out here, she's not going to last very long during the murderfest.

"Probably." Clementine agrees, smiling at him gratefully as she gets back onto her feet and smooths down her dress. "I'm not usually that careless, just looking at that thing started to creep me out." she jerks her head to where the robot is still standing, perfectly still and not alive.

Walkers had become day to day, but giant robots? Definitely creepy. Creepy like this whole Crowning and the Capitol in general to be honest.

"Are you one of the new people?" because she thinks she'd remember this guy if he'd been around longer.

Brock glances back over at the robot a little skeptically. It's weird to think of somebody being afraid of a thing like that, but then again, Brock's experience with domestic robots is sort of out of the ordinary.

"I guess so," he says, taking one more drag off his cigarette before putting it out on the railing, because A) screw this place, he doesn't care, and B) he tries not to smoke around kids when he can remember it.

"That means you're not, huh?"

Clem shrugs. "I hope they don't put anything like it in the arena." that would really suck. Roomba's had been bad enough, she represses a shudder at the thought of those.

"I've been here six months now." More or a less, she wasn't keeping an exact track of the days. It was probably actually a little more than that and longer than she rightly wanted to think about given that time had included two arena's, three if you counted the special one on board the sinking ship.

She hadn't died in that one, unlike the main two.

"My name's Clementine. What's yours?"

Jesus. Six months.

Brock runs his hand down his cheek, brow furrowed. What the hell is the point of keeping a little kid in a place like this, subjecting her to this kind of sadistic bullshit over and over? By now, he's figured out that deaths in the arenas aren't permanent, which he still doesn't know is better or worse, but that doesn't really make a difference. The more he learns about this place, the angrier he gets.

"Brock," he says, and then he asks just to ask, just to have a solid number in his head to be pissed about. "How old are you, Clementine?"

One day people might stop asking her that, if the Capitol ever lets her grow up that is. As it is Clementine has an expectation that with every new person she meets here, unless they're another kid, that question about her age will come. She knows well what people are probably thinking about her when they ask it too.

"I'm 11. I should be 12 soon, though." As if that makes it much better. It's only 12 technically as well, she hasn't grown or aged physically at all since everytime she dies the Capitol brings her back looking exactly the same as she did the first time. Clementine knows this because everytime she wakes up the bite wound from the dog on her left arm is freshly scarred all over again.

Jesus.

Having a solid number did exactly what he wanted it to do -- he gets all pissed off at the cruelty of it all, the senselessness, and now he's even more determined to send this whole fucking thing crashing down. How dare they. How dare they.

Still, there's nothing he can really say to make it better for her. Can't promise anything, and sympathy would be pointless, he's sure. She's been here six months. The only thing that will make it better is if it stops.

"Everyone treating you alright?"

Her eyes track his face, like she's searching for all those emotions that must be going through at this moment. It's alright, really, this is one of the ways she tells which tributes are good (to an extent) and which are bad. It's one of those invisible lines amongst the tributes about who would and wouldn't hurt a kid.

Clementine knows her age only protects her so far.

She's glad, at least, that he doesn't say anything about how wrong it is that she's here. As far as Clementine's concerned it's wrong that they're all here, she doesn't count herself any special treatment in regards to that. This whole thing is so, so messed up, worse even than anything she'd seen back at home -- which is saying a lot considering what she's seen of how bad people could get before.

"Yeah." she nods reassuringly, "I have a lot of good friends here." amongst the tributes at least, Peacekeepers and the rest of the Capitol didn't count. Though even then some of the Capitolites weren't so bad, there's at least two she'd call okay. "This part isn't so bad."

This part meaning being out of the arena.

Brock is vehemently against hurting children, to the point where it's made it into his personal ethical code. No women; no children. The former he will make exceptions to in dire circumstances: if a woman needs to die, if killing her will stop bad things from continually happening to him and the people he loves, he'll do it. But he'll never kill a child. He'd rather die.

But it's good that she has friends. There are enough kids here -- thankfully, the ones he's seen all look to be older than eleven -- that she should have enough people to hang around with. He only hopes that they don't all cluster together in the arena and make themselves an easy target.

Though Clementine's been here long enough where maybe she knows not to do that. He shouldn't underestimate her.

"It's a little silly," he says, though his tone concedes that, yeah, being forced into a bloodbath sounds... worse than a little silliness.

"Do you have anybody teaching you stuff? Self defense, that kind of thing?"

In her second arena Clementine had grouped with a few kids her own age and it had worked for a while but ultimately fallen through. Mostly because she chose to trust the wrong girl.

It's not a mistake she intends to make again with her strategy for the next arena, a strategy she's still working on. One thing that does become abundantly clear in arena's after a while is choosing your companions carefully... though ultimately it's hard to decide anything for certain because you never knew exactly what you'd be going into.

"You should have been at the last crowning, this one's a picnic in comparison." Which is funny she realises after saying because the previous one had actually been a picnic.

Clementine nods, "A couple people are teaching me stuff. I try to learn as much as I can between the arena's." she still had to chase Bro up about the swordfighting, actually. "I'm pretty good with a bow now."

Brock glances back over his shoulder when she mentions the Crowning. He's sure it was just as stupid as this, but maybe he'll get the story from somebody else. If it was horrible like she says, he doesn't really want to make her relive it or anything.

"Yeah?" he says, looking back at her again. "That's a good strategy. You're little, so long-range is gonna be your best bet. Then again, that's probably what everyone else is expecting you to do, too."

Not exactly horrible, more incredibly annoying and creepy. Chandeliers that looks like someone's smiling teeth, Brock, just imagine that, and hot dogs with sprinkles on them.

"I used a gun a lot at home but they don't give us them often. They did last arena but you had to complete a scavenger hunt to win one, I didn't manage it." and she'd only have been okay if she'd gotten the pistol, a lot of other people had gotten way bigger guns from what she'd seen. Or well, she could have used the grenades, she supposes.

"What would you do if you were me?" Brock looks like he could bench press a bear if he wanted to, Clem has a feeling he might know how to fight.

Hot dogs with sprinkles. The horror. The horror.

It's a little weird to be discussing tactics with a little girl, but he supposes he'll have to get used to this sort of thing. Besides, maybe it's a little sexist, he reminds himself; if she were a little boy, he'd have no problem talking about ripping people's faces off and stabbing them in the Achilles tendon.

"If I were you?" he says, turning his eyes up to gather his thoughts. "Use everybody else's size against them. You're small, but that's not a disadvantage. A bigger person is gonna spring a trap that you won't. They'll make leaves crunch more, things like that. If you can figure out a way to knock 'em down, they'll fall harder. More weight means more time to get up. Hit 'em when they're down."

He's also aware that he's giving advice to somebody who may very well use these very tactics against him. She's a little kid, but he is admittedly sometimes a poor judge of character. Still, it doesn't matter. He'd rather she take him out along with other people if it kept her alive.

"That sounds smart." she agrees, looking incredible thoughtful about his words. It's not a bad strategy for using against most of the Walkers back home actually, if she ever gets -- had to go back home that is. If Clementine got a choice she very much wouldn't on that topic.

"I could for their legs first?" Brock might be pleased to know that Clementine only intends to use this as defence if someone comes at her first. "Hit their knees?" that should bring someone down, right? If she used something heavy to hit them with.

Brock holds his hand up, shaking his head a little.

"Nah, nah -- if you miss or don't hit 'em hard enough, it'll just make 'em mad. What you wanna do is get them to come at you low. You know, get 'em to kind of lunge," he says, lowering his center of gravity a bit to illustrate, squaring his shoulders with his elbows bent like he's going to reach out and grab her. "Their balance will be off, angled forward, and you'll be able to use that to pull them the rest of the way. Use their own momentum against them."

He straightens up then, gesturing vaguely in the air. "It's pretty risky. You need to time it right, and, like... obviously it won't work if they got a ranged weapon like a gun or something. So you make sure you pick those off from a distance, you know what I mean?"

"Right, okay. I think I got it." She says with a very intense look of concentration on her young face as she tries to make sure she'll remember everything he's saying. "Take out anybody with a ranged weapon first, then use that to deal with anybody who gets close."

She could have used that back with the bandits who'd chased her before, back at the river in her own world. "I'll try and practice before the next arena."

Clem, please.

"That's it," he says encouragingly, hoping that this will actually make some kind of difference for her. He doesn't know what the arenas are like, what to expect, so it's possible that this is just completely useless. But he couldn't just let her wail on people's kneecaps and get herself killed.

"That's probably a good idea. I'm usually in the Training Center during the day, so if you need any help, you know where to find me."

It very well could which is why Clementine is taking it so seriously. She wants to be prepared for anything, she wants to be strong and able to hold her own, to fight for herself and the people she cares about. She doesn't want to be a liability in an arena because she's a kid and people think kids are helpless, even if that kind of thinking could potentially work in her favour.

"Thanks, Brock. That'd be great." she nods, "I'll look for you there then." You're a pretty cool guy, Brock.

Hell yes, he is cool. You are a good judge of character, Clementine.

"Cool," he says, giving her a little cool guy reverse-nod, because she has earned his respect as somebody who actually listens to him. "We should probably get back out there."

There's a good chance the Capitol doesn't appreciate anti-social behavior at these shindigs.

"Yeah. Can't keep our adoring audience waiting." Clementine says, the sarcasm creeping into her voice naturally. She's had a lot of practice at it.

With a tug to straighten out her dress again she heads forwards, giving Brock a smile back over her shoulder as she heads into the crowd. "See you soon!"

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The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

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oh hello

hello new friend~

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