thecapitol | The Crowning Of The Signless

The Crowning Of The Signless

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of The Signless.
Where| An alcove in a nearby mountain.
When| From dusk to dawn, on Thursday.
Warnings/Notes| This event is mandatory for all Tributes to attend. Even if you do not tag in, your character will attend this party. Peacekeepers will be on high alert. There will be no chance to runaway.

Tributes are encouraged to sleep all during the day, before the crowning. The reason for this is revealed when they are roused at sundown and brought to the closest mountain to the city, where they are greeted by an alcove within the moutainside that has been carved into a temple to what may be an illicit faith. The stone alcove is dim-lit by candles arranged along walls and by what appears to be altars set before iron cancer signs, some plain, some inlet with intricate carvings. Bright red drapery hangs about the room, tapestries with the cancer sign and cirles of blending color spectrum. There are also some waist high leggings hung upon one wall. In the center of the room, shackles hang, glowing bright from some sort of internal heat and light. A hole in the ceiling is set on each side of it, to allow the smoke to escape from the great bonfire that roars beneath it. If one takes a seat upon any of large stones and logs aranged around it, they can see both the stars twinkling down and the way the smoke looks as though it is coming off the shackles.

The only windows otherwise are made from stained glass depicting images from the Signless's life, such as his rescue by "Alternia's First Mother" (so described on the metal plate below), "The Recording of His Teachings" depicting The Disciple writing the Signless's words into a book, "A New Follower" showing the Psiioniic joining the Signless, a boat deemed "The First Ship", and "The Execution" which features the death of the Signless before thousands of followers, a fifth troll- resembling Terezi- bearing the shackles as a necklace and another with great brown wings, a single window of Karkat and Kankri Vantas, as well as a sinister depiction of six indistinct shadowy figures of cerulean, blue, indigo, violet, tyrian, and maroon. Cave-style paintings cover the stone walls, styles ranging from simple scribbled etching to circles featuring twelve colors in circle, with bright red at the center, and yet more elaborate shadowy depictions of those in the stained glass, esepcially the Signless himself, both prior and following his execution.

But not all is dedicated to the Signless and his old posse of biblical age trolls. A shrine has been set up for redeemed and then so quickly lost victor, Matthew 'Punchy' O'Conner. Punchy has been painted upon a cave wall like he fits right into the theme. Upon his shrine lay all varieties of bling; Bling-jewelery, a bling goblet, bling boxing gloves, a hoodie, a nun habit, and a stone with a memorial rap engraved atop-- with bling, of course, all shimmering by the spotlights placed before the shrine. Refillable 40 oz bottles are lain out so that sorrowful guests, wishing to pay their respect to the boy so cruelly slain by rebels when he had turned from them, can pour one out in his honor.

Marius is also honored there with a tea light and small framed photograph set upon an empty table with an empty chair, along with souvenir versions of his and Cosette's wedding rings that guests can take home. Beneath all these rings is a photoshopped picture of javert with a single tear running down his manly face.

The only seating besides the stones and logs and Marius's single chair, are those that are sat at a table at the end of the room. Each is draped in a different color, six on each side for each district and each blood hue-- presumably of the Victor's choosing. Between these chairs sits yet one more with a tall back like a flogging jut that got the redesigned at the base to make a throne that some trolls might recognize as belonging to the Empress. The arms of the chair feature open shackles. The throne is decorated in chains of gold and jewels of all colors. The victor is given a crown of gilded flowers and thorns on chain.

Food can be found upon the altars or the victor's table, in surplus. Alternian delicacies are served, featuring insects, flavored or plain, and food made from insects. Guests may find a giant beetle being served upon a spit roast. Even the meats appear to be topped with bugs. The cakes, marshmallows (which can be roasted with stick by the fire!), and orange creamsicles may be the only things truly bug-free. Drink options are water, wine, and soda.

Stylists are encouraged to dress their tributes primarily in black, with a single bit of color put into the design matched according to district (with exception to trolls), or any manner of draping fabrics, cloaks, and costumery reminiscent of religious iconagraphy that one might expect of ancient aliens. Waist high pants and leggings are also in high regard, as well as fake horn, fangs, contacts, and anything to make guests look more trollish. The only rule is for the main colors to match to the blood assignment.

The music playing is the sort one might expect from a church, featuring mournful vocals, soft bells and melodies, and of course, organ music. But for one or two jarring differences. Where this music is coming from remains a mystery but since the space is open and clear, guests have plenty of room for dancing.

Those who don't wish to dance can talk and regale tales around the bonfire, or may instead seek out the book of "scripture" at one of the altars that features nothing more than various parables- with names that Tributes might recognize! Each Tribute has one parable contained within, telling a tale in flourished manner of a part of their life, featuring a pro-capitol moral at the end.

Elsewhere, are models of the flogging just, where guests can put their hands through the oversized cuffs and pretend to writhe in agony, an Alternian bioware helm where guests too can pretend to have their lifeforce and power used a battery for the sake of the Alternian empire, a dress-up station where guests can customize their appearance to match trolls sold into gruelling slavery to seadwellwers, and an area designed to look like a cave with extensive "Alternian" (gibberish) writings of the Signless's words, where guests too can pretend they've lost everyone they love and are carrying on their legacy by writing upon the walls and leaving their own messages of love and mourning. Not to mention, a life-sized drone with realistic piercing claws, for all your picture posing needs.

A sandpit lies just around a corner for children to make castles, dig trenches, and act out games of pretending they've trekked thousands of miles through zombie infested desert just to speak to a couple of people! Guests can also meet a "mutantblood lusus" a four-eyed crab creature with lizardlike structure-- only sized no bigger than the average dog and perhaps about as intelligent. Guests are warned not to put their hand too close, lest the claw pincers manage to pinch them.

Late into the crowning, everyone is brought out to the dark mountainside, well monitored by peacekeepers, and divided into teams. Everyone is given belts with velcro flags attached, colored according to the "blood" they were matched with by district. Those in the eighth, ninth, twelfth, third, tenth, and eleventh districts are deemed the "lowbloods. Those in the first, fourth, second, fifth, sixth, and seventh districts, are deemed the "highbloods". Each team is given a velcro board to attach the flags to. The first team to lose all their flags loses, winners getting tiny necklace copies of the shackles. The last one standing with a flag wins a larger necklace copy and the option to get it redesigned into a symbol of their choosing.

If you failed not to be "culled", fear not! All tributes receive a participation sticker at the end. This sticker features a number. It is not indicative of districts or of age, as will be announced shortly, but of the new scoring. These will be announced for everyone to hear- and pick out targets from.

The crowning officially ends with the coming dawn. And so begins, to everyone's surprise, preparation for the arena. Tributes will be going right from the crowning off to the Tribute launch tubes. Happy Hunger Games!

[Note: This is ICly on Thursday! Just before the arena on Friday!]

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Just as he dreaded and Jennifer had told him about, Phillip had joined the celebrations and public outings as part of his Tribute duties. He was a man who was used to being a voice in the answering machine or behind the scenes, organizing events for people. As nice a person as he was, he didn't have too many social skills to speak of and even less something so...strange as the Coronation. The stylist tried to work around his lean frame and demeanor, coming up with a cerulean version of some robes, while letting him keep his hair as messy as possible.. It was either that or Dandy's hairstyle and like hell Phil would let that happen. From what he could see from the Trolls, this had bad taste written all over it, a mockery of their history and culture, plus the memorial to a person he hadn't met. But hell hath no fury like the Capitol scorned so when in Rome...

A- Food

How did the Capitolites managed to eat, let alone swallow these dishes was beyond Gray, but he was sure to have some strong alcohol close to wash it down. He was pretty sure he would've offended someone if he spoke his mind. After one full grub (and accompanying glass of wine), Phil decided against trying again and began to talk. Maybe he could find some sponsors, to even the odds. Any tributes or citizens are welcomed to join him though he'd rather just get this over with.

B- Dancefloor

Phil didn't care much for the capture the flag game, and the parable was just tasteless. Somehow, the Capitol managed to spin the murders from his restaurant into how those children gave up their lives for the greater good of the place. He may have slammed the book shut, his face unreadable but his eyes bore a quiet sort of rage he'd use in the arena the next day. Dancing was a sort of medium for any activities and he'd be more than happy to join in, if to feel free again.

From nearby, Gray is likely to hear the soft chanting of "chug, chug" as he drains his glass of wine in a single go, and a few appreciative claps when he puts it down. The teenager egging him on is dressed as a rust-blooded troll, and gives him a thumb up once he manages to catch Gray's eye. He's occupied his other hand with his own glass of wine from a passing Avox platter, and is quick to offer it.

"Twenty Assi says you can't do another."

"Wha-" he was caught offguard at that, "Another what? Drink? Why?" Phil has been using alcohol as a way to deal with sleeping through the horrors he went through. Two glasses of wine was nothing and he took the offer. He polished the glass off without much thought and shook his head, "I accept cash."

...Too easy. Gary gives a petulant frown and would fold his arms, too, if he wasn't flagging down that same Avox and the rest of their platter.

"Best three out of five."

"Are you trying to get me drunk for some reason?" Phil was wary of this one, holding his hand as a way to politely hold off the poor Avox.

"Because I have nothing on me and I have a high enough tolerance," he had to remind Gary.

Gary's expression instantly mellows and he gives a quick, nonchalant shrug. "I dunno," he murmurs. "Just having a little fun, you know? Come on. I'll match you!"

He's just. Not going to mention that he doesn't have any money on him, either. No need for Phil to know that.

Gray arched an eyebrow at that, "How old are you?" That was a question that he felt compelled to ask after working in a restaurant and watching high schoolers try to sneak in alcohol. Gary seemed exactly like that type, to the guard's slight aggravation.

Gary's short attention span saves the both of them from further bartering, as he answers the question without much extra thought.

"Nineteen!" he announces, proudly, as if he's about to hold up how many fingers old he is. Technically by the Capitol's calendars he's still eighteen, but ever the optimist, Gary rounds up. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-one," Phil answered, "One old comment out of you and I'm taking your drink." But it begged the question, "How many of these have you attended?" In other words, how many Arenas Gary had the honor of being slaughtered in.

Phil caught Gary with his mouth open and ready to make a choice comment about his age, and so handily prevents what would have otherwise been inevitable. He shut his mouth and brought a delicate finger to his lips. Don't worry, old man, you won't hear a peep out of him about it.

Which made deciding if he should answer Phil's next question momentarily difficult. But Gary was never one to belabor a point. He looked around, like he was searching for some kind of confirmation, shrugged and barreled onwards regardless. "Just the two! There wasn't one for Punchy." Gary frowned and huffed an irritable sigh behind the rim of his newly-acquired drink, which he had abandoned trying to give to Phil at this point. "He deserved one, though."

"What happened to Punchy though? I see a memorial but no body," Gray said a bit more casual than he intended to. He'd been through enough wakes to know that if the body wasn't on display, either it was mangled beyond repair or hidden away. "What district was he from?"

"Well he won the Mini-Arena they had a few months ago," Gary explained, deciding that this was a far more important point to address than the death of his friend. That would come last. "For District...Six, I think? Yeah, District Six."

He paused, as if hoping Phil would forget that he'd asked about the body. But Gary had short enough of an attention span that he couldn't wait for too long; instead he kicked back the rest of his drink in a single, melodramatic gulp, and only then decided he was prepared to explain. "Rebels killed him," he said, through a grimace strained either by the dryness of the red wine or through forceful retention of a snarl. "Ah...right at the end of the Arena that Signless won." Gary waved a dismissive hand. "I guess they cremated him or something."

"Well...crap...isn't that just. Punchy would've been my mentor then. I'm sorry for your loss," Phillip offered to Gary, "Hope he went quick then."

The man didn't even look at the passing Avox with his tray, he simply grabbed a new glass right off it. So there was a rebellion? Given the nature of the Games, it was only natural that people lashed out and tried to raze the system that oppressed them. How fitting.

The passing Avox had a second glass removed and replaced with the empty one Gary just drained. He didn't like dwelling on these kinds of things. Depressing things. It was bad enough, what with the memorial that he'd been avoiding so far, but actually having to talk about it was significantly worse. At least Phil seemed supportive.

"Thanks man," Gary sniffed, staring down the fresh glass of wine in his hand. "He was a cool dude. Made sick rhymes. He would've taught you well."

...Whether or not Gary was referring to general teaching or the teaching of 'sick rhymes' was never made clear. He changed the subject as soon as possible.

"So you're pretty new, huh?" Gary said brightly, like the past several minutes just didn't exist. "What's your name?"

Phil knew a subject change when he heard one and smiled right back, if uncertain of what the Capitol had in store for them. Losing friends on a permanent basis was always a sensitive matter so if Gary wanted to switch, then so be it.

"I'm Phillip Gray, Phil if you want. I was, uh, reaped? Yeah, reaped a few weeks back," he answered, "Not the best experience, but it could've been worse you know?"

"Phil." Gary parroted with an encouraging smile. Nice guy, Phil. Kind of skeptical, but he knew how to play along and have a good time. Gary could appreciate that. "Yeah, it's not so bad. The Gamemakers are all big and nasty when you come in, but the Capitol's pretty okay!"

That was the true test of a Tribute, Gary found--whether or not calling the Capitol 'pretty okay' would get him glared at. As if realizing the delicate ground he was treading on, Gary interrupted himself with a soft "oh!" and abruptly stuck out his hand.

"I'm Gary! Gary Epps, District Eleven. I won't blame you if you don't recognize me after this--I don't come with the horns. Crowning fashion, you know?"

"I figured as much," Gray rolled his eyes playfully at this sort of comment, "They have us all play a little role here or there but some of these guests, they really take the cake. First Crowning too, Gary."

The horns never really took to the man's scalp and he simply let them fall off. The contact stayed though.

The test would fly over Phil's head, mostly because in their own twisted way, the Capitol owned him now. "I don't have a formed opinion on them just yet but I'm just trying to enjoy every moment I can."

That was just about the best answer Gary could have gotten to that question. His smile widened and he pumped his outstretched hand in a small, personal victory. It was so rare for him around here, he noticed, to find someone else with such a similar mindset to his own. But maybe he just wasn't looking hard enough.

"That's the best there is, isn't it?" Gary grinned, stuffing his hands into the rope of his over-sized robe. "Endless food, parks, money, booze--what else is there? I don't know about you, but I'm gonna use up every last Assi on that credit card they got me."

The emphasis on booze made the older of the two roll his eyes at that: it was almost as if this was Gary's first time drinking. That overt eagerness to get wasted, it would've set off a big glowing sign over the District 11 Tribute that read, "Card Me Please!"

Speaking of, the guard chuckled, "I'm gonna hold out on spending my money...I-I wanna find something worth my while." A good coat? A phone? Or just a bottle of whiskey? Hard to tell.

Gary threw his head back and laughed, abruptly and loud and short like a bark. It's so odd to him, that someone who wants to enjoy himself would be so ridiculously reserved! Surely, if he wanted to have some fun, he'd go all the way, right? It seemed only natural to him.

"Why?" he asked on recovery. "I don't even think these things run out! I mean, I haven't had a problem buying shit, and I've been here for months."

"You never know, there isn't a credit tree here I can just kick and get more, Gary," Phil took a scolding position on that. He was that used to $4.25 an hour, not exactly swimming in money and barely rent, let alone buying food that wasn't at the restaurant. So yeah, he's going to save up what he had.

Except there was a way to earn money, but it had to be in the Arena, that alien concept for a man whose enemies were robotic rather than human.

"'Cause you don't need it," Gary insists. The scolding tone goes completely over his head; Aunt Debbie had tried to get him some part-time jobs in his upperclassmen years of high school, but he never held them long enough to appreciate living without an allowance, and save a few attempts at running away from his old home, he's never thought of the ills of living on his own. He doesn't understand. At the rate the Capitol is spoiling him, there's a chance he'll never understand.

Hopefully Phil remains optimistic. Gary certainly is! He aims to give Phil an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Relax, man. We're celebrities! They've given us literally the swankiest apartments in town, and you're worried about credit?"

Oh the wonders of youth and lack of care for the world. At least Gary wasn't that obnoxious about it, not like some of the clients Phil had at the restaurant under the pretense of being "ironic".

"It's a change from what I lived in,really," the suite was something the former Phone Guy could only dream about, especially considering that his hometown wasn't in the best shape, economically speaking. But the thought alone that he was famous was daunting for a man who practically lived behind the scenes.

"You sure are enjoying the benefits of being a celebrity, that's for damn sure," he remarked with no real bite. His was a cautious sort of optimism, okay?

Edited 2015-04-18 20:15 (UTC)

Gary accepts Phil's cautious optimism and raises it tenfold, with a grin and a sharp, eager laugh. "As you should!" he declares. "'S not every day you wake up with all of this just kind of thrown in your lap. I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth." Gary aims another encouraging nudge. "I mean, I'm sure as hell not gonna stop them from giving me more if they want to, you know?"

"Yeah...it really isn't," Phil did his best to be as cheerful as Gary but there was something so disturbingly off about everything, as if there was vein of poison running beneath their feet, and one false step, they were all dead.

He offered Gary a glass off one of the Avoxes while taking one for himself. If the young man was so eager to drink the metaphorical Kool-Aid, why can't he? "To fame and fortune."

Wrapping this up?

a_minute_younger - 2015-05-11 18:42 (UTC) - Expand

Yep!

voiceinthephone - 2015-05-12 03:27 (UTC) - Expand

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The Crowning Of The Signless

Philip Gray | OTA

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Wrapping this up?

Yep!