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Who| Timaeus Nadir and all his guests. If you are in the Capitol, you've been invited!
What| A spectacular Viewing Party and opportunity for tributes to get sponsorship
Where| The Victoria Ascendant, on the lake
When| After the most recent death roll!
Warnings/Notes| Probable skeeviness of the Nice Guy variety.

Welcome to the Victoria Ascendant, latest in the Ascendant line of luxury yachts as built by the Nadir company. Tonight, the Victoria Ascendant is the stage set for a spectacular party, also paid for by the company and specifically designed and organised by a team of event specialists overseen by your host for this evening, Timaeus Nadir- wealthy eligible bachelor, melodramatic heir apparent to the company chair, frequent sponsor of the Games. The Victoria Ascendant is fully equipped with every obscenely luxurious item imaginable, and practically drips opulence.

When first welcomed aboard you will be assured that your every need will be seen to, your every desire catered for. Staff are on hand to answer any questions you might have or guide you to various areas of the ship, provide you with food, drink, or suggestions of how best to take advantage of the Victoria Ascendant's many amenities- they are here as hosts, but also as salespeople for those of the guests with money to burn- this party is serving more than one purpose. Tributes who responded to their invite will also receive a delicate, hand-written note in a golden envelope as they board- the content of which will be posted as a reply to their response to this post.(I'll do this once your character turns up.)

Although the Victoria Ascendant has a magnificent dining room for formal, sit-down occasions, the food for the party will be circulating the various lounge areas and decks. There is also a buffet table, for those of you who prefer to help yourselves, and a fully stocked bar. Provided are a baffling variety of foods and beverages, seemingly unconnected- but each tribute will find that if at any point during their stay in the Capitol they have requested a particular food or drink item, it is available here. Or, at least, the closest approximation the catering staff could conjure up. Seating is provided in intimate groupings around tables for the most part, though there are large, sprawling couches against the walls. Central to the dining area is a magnificent aquarium filled with brightly coloured fish. Anyone looking closely enough will recognise them- varieties of piranha- but don't worry, they've been more than adequately fed and the glass is thick.

While there are various screens displaying the Games throughout the ship, Viewing is also taking place on an enormous screen, set up in a seperate lounge area with full floor-to-ceiling windows all along one side. Here, staff wait to take bets or help organise the giving of sponsor gifts. Large, comfortable couches line the room, and the central table overflows with a spectacular arrangement of edible flowers and fruit.

Later in the evening, you will be told that the firework display is about to begin, and invited to go up onto the main deck to watch. The fireworks themselves will be launched from smaller boats across the lake, and the display is set to be truly spectacular. It will be set to some music that Tributes may find familiar- various melodies pulled from the most recent Arena. The large swimming pool on the deck is open, but it is too early in the year to be comfortable to use. Instead, it is being used as an unusual centrepiece for the evening. Floating in the illuminated water is a gigantic iceberg, sculpted into a stylised model of the current arena and populated with frozen figures. Eagle-eyed Tributes may be able to spot themselves depicted in ice- more often than not, the moment of their deaths are the pose of choice, if a little tweaked for the sake of a more dramatic scene.

Enjoy!

Adachi · Ariadne · Asha · Atticus · Beck · Blaine · Calico · Callista · Chris · Diana · Don · Eddie · Eponine · Eva · Gaila · Glinda · Harley · Howard · Julie · Kurt · Marty · Maximus · Momoko · Neffa · Parker · Peeta · Phil · Pruna · R · Sigma · Some · Thane · Timaeus · Topher

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R came back from the dead to find out he was invited to a party.

His Escort at first looks like she wants to argue with him and start the whole process of herding him when coaxing doesn't work. Then she realizes he wants to go - her whole body language changes and R's almost sorry he groaned anything at all because now she's chattering away, bright-eyes, in her best sea-foam teal headdress and wig and practically glowing in his face. The zombie stares at her over his muzzle. He's almost thankful when he starts drifting away in his head. Sometimes there's perks to being Dead.

The truth is R wants to go to see if his friends are there, if they came back too. He hopes so.

The zombie balks when he realizes they're going on a boat. Surrounded by water. It's still fresh, what it felt like to fall into that swamp and have those fishes for company for hours or days - R wasn't sure, actually, because time crept up on him normally and underwater, it was even worse. No time. Just piranhas. Thousands of nips at a time, until they ate enough of his eyes and his brain to finally kill him. It makes starvation look like a party. So yeah, R thinks he has a little bit of an excuse to drag his feet more than usual before the gangplank.

He won't know if the others are here unless he sucks it up and checks, he tells himself. Blowing out a wheezy breath, R starts the long, tortured process of shuffling up the gangplank and hoping he doesn't pitch himself overboard a second time. By the time he gets to the top, there's a small line of guests behind him waiting and looking impatient because he's holding everyone up.

"Howard?" R's staggering speeds up when he realizes it's not crowded yet and he spots Howard. The guy looks skinny but his face is in one piece again and he's here and breathing. "You're...okay!"

Howard jerks a bit when R calls him name, because even as he is now, the vigilance of the Arena hasn't left him. He still doesn't have his back to any doors; he still counted all the life preservers when he got on this yacht. But his face breaks into a grin when he sees R.

"They brought you back!" He was worried, what with the fact that while Howard knows he has fangirls, he doesn't know what kind of groupies R has. Maybe a bunch of goth kids. Maybe a bunch of pasty basement dwellers who like painting their faces white and wear the same ratty hoodie for months on end. Maybe he has Julie/R shippers. Howard can only hope. Regardless, he was pretty worried that R was going to be permanently retired.

He's pretty relieved to be alive again, too. He hasn't caught up with everyone he cares about, but of the ones who've died, the only one he doesn't know the status of is Julie. Wyatt is still alive out there - and thus still in jeopardy - but Howard's trying not to think about that. He doesn't have enough money to send Wyatt anything in the Arena anyway.

Howard pats the seat next to him, indicating R should sit and that he doesn't mind the dead-smell next to him while he's eating hors d'euvres (Howard particularly likes the candied walnuts - good protein, hasn't choked on one yet). "They blinged out your muzzle, bro. You know if Julie's okay?"

Something about Howard is too chipper. He's trying too hard not to think about the Games. It's better than surrendering to fear, but it shows like light through cracks in his facade.

R wants to ask Howard what happened. He guesses he could always watch the TV and see if the latest recap pops up, but he doesn't. Maybe he doesn't want to know yet. His Escort will make him watch it as homework sooner or later and he's lucky she's busy socializing and trying to build up his image, whatever that's supposed to mean. R doesn't care.

The important thing is Howard's here.

R doesn't have to be told twice to park his butt next to the human, shuffling over and collapsing more than sitting on the couch and close enough to feel some of Howard's Living body heat in the inch or so they have between their legs. It's comforting. Beats having to shuffle with his Escort, feeling there's a leash between them, his eyes glazing over in the back as she gushes over the latest nail polish colors. Howard's a breath of fresh air.

"Ggglk-glad to be...back. I'm...still...looking," R admits. "Wy...att?"

He tries not to look too put out. This is where being Dead comes in handy. Sometimes his poker face sucks but other days it's awesome because it seems like all his facial muscles took a vacation. This is one of those days. R studies Howard now that they're up close, his nose twitching behind the blinged-out muzzle. Jeez, he still can't smell squat here.

He'll have to go by eyes and common sense: Howard's talking like a Living, so he must still be alive. Totally flawless logic. R notices the way his eyes dart across the room and the table of food, almost like they're back in the Arena, and he has to wonder if there are other Tributes here Howard's looking out for. Judging and sizing up.

He wonders if he got the name of that Tribute who invaded their island. R decides he wants it after all.

Edited (typo fixing) 2013-04-25 23:42 (UTC)

"Wyatt's still in the Arena," Howard says, slightly tense. He's not seeking out images of the Games, but it's hard to avoid the videos entirely, and the last he saw was of Wyatt crying and beating the shit out of some poor defenseless trash can. He doesn't like that image - in the grand scheme of the Games it's a small thing, but he doesn't like the idea of Wyatt crying, because he liked believing that Wyatt was somehow untouchable by all this. Above it. A guardian spirit, or something.

Not a mortal guy who cries when he sees that his camp and the people who stayed there have been destroyed.

"I want to send him something to tell him we're okay, but I can't afford it, so." Howard shrugs. If there's nothing he can do it might as well be out of sight and out of mind, and until they know Julie's okay they're an incomplete set anyway.

Howard shovels another handful of candied walnuts in his mouth, trying to think of a better subject. "So I got a girlfriend."

It strikes him that maybe this was actually not a good topic of conversation since, hey, Julie and her unknown fate thus far. Maybe R won't want to talk about it, and Howard is tempted to preemptively make an awkward-turtle hand gesture.

...He's what? Howard can't be serious. R thinks about what happened - his dunk in the swamp, leaving his friends with the man who had the lance and the grudge and it's obvious what (probably) happened - and then he thinks of Wyatt. Coming back from the snares. Finding no one's home.

"Maybe we'll..." R struggles to come up with a plan, listing slightly where he sits. "It....it - we...."

He sucks at this thinking on the fly thing, R sitting there still trying to massage his brain into doing something useful for a change instead of stuttering. Wyatt's out there and he has no idea where Julie was. His Escort is gone schmoozing, so he can't groan up an interrogation. It gives Howard time to stuff some more candied walnuts in his mouth, making him look like a scrawny chipmunk, and change the subject to something that makes R come out of his battle-planning. The zombie looks over in surprise. Howard's distraction works.

"Who?" R wonders when this happened. He has to think about what to say next - there's a protocol to this, he's supposed to then say - "Congrats."

That's right, isn't it?

So far Howard's plan seems to be working, R having a hard time deciding if he wants to focus on Wyatt, finding his Escort to ask about Julie or being a good friend and listening to Howard spill the beans about his girlfriend. Too many choices. Zombies don't do choices.

Howard feels a little bad cutting R off like that, but he doesn't want to talk about Wyatt or Julie now. Not when he doesn't have anything comforting he can say about Julie, although he hopes that she's made enough of an impression in her few days to get a second shot at the Arena.

As for Wyatt...Howard isn't much a fan of that ugly guilt feeling sitting in his chest.

"Eponine. Do you know her? She's...she's like me." Howard finds himself at a loss for words that would be more characteristic of R. Eponine's deprived. She's scared and starved and scrappy. She picks pockets and grabs things from shop windows. Her eyes widen at the food at the Capitol every time no matter how many times she sees it. They aren't the same - Eponine has more moxie than Howard, Howard has more tenacity - but they're alike, which means everything to Howard, because he's always felt so very alone.

"She's French, a little older than me, really skinny, dark hair, dark eyelashes, dark eyes, light skin. I'll point her out to you. She's wearing a really pretty dress tonight." In a way Howard almost sounds like a kid describing his cool new action figure with the karate-chop action. "She's smart and sweet and she has a pretty singing voice."

Edited 2013-04-27 20:26 (UTC)

"Epo...eponin," R struggles to file the name away, giving up for now. He shook his head unevenly as Howard asked if they'd met. A Tribute he'd seen from a distance? "She sounds like...the...girl of the...century."

Howard looks more alive than when he gushes about her, R half-turning in his seat to sneak a look at the little human and even though he looks skinny - so skinny a zombie could only use him as toothpicks - somehow Howard fills up more space when he talks about Eponine. R has no idea what "she's French" is supposed to mean, though. He'll probably find out if he ever meets Howard's new girlfriend. Get context, fill in the blanks.

The zombie glances around, like he expects to see Eponine coming through the crowd at any minute. More and more guests filtered in now that R wasn’t blocking the way in: trails of huge trains and bustles, men with hair the color of the sky. Important people, his Escort had told him, which was why she was going to take care of all the talking. R was supposed to…sit here, he guessed. If it meant catching up on things with one of his few friends and looking out for Julie, then he probably got the better end of the deal.

"She's pretty great," Howard practically coos. "I don't, you know. I never had a girlfriend or anything before. I was kind of young when my life went to shit, so."

He hasn't told R about the FAYZ. He hasn't told most people, besides Sigma and Eponine. He's allowed people to assume that the twitchiness and hoarding are souvenirs from the Arenas and not a pre-existing neurotic condition. He wonders if maybe he should tell R about it, about the way when he was thirteen the world as he knew it ended. About abuse and loyalty and the zombie in the basement.

But maybe some things don't need to be shared. Not right away, anyway. There are some hells he's not ready to talk about. There are some he'd feel guilty laying on R's slouchy shoulders. The guy looks so content to just sit there staring at things. It seems cruel to dump too much on him.

Well, Howard assumes he looks content. R's face is kind of perpetually in that weird cross of looking like he's both concentrating and incapable of focusing. At least both his eyes are normal now, and one isn't spinning off doing its own thing, throwing little pupil-parties out in the periphery.

"Do you want to like, double-date or something, sometime? I mean, the four of us, you, me, Epsy, Julie." He's not weighing the possibility that Julie isn't back, at least not in front of R. "I mean, you two are an item, right? You totally act like an item. It's kind of cute in a nauseating way."

Edited 2013-04-30 05:48 (UTC)

"Double date" sounds pretty obvious, except R has no idea if he's ever done one before or not. For all he knows, he used to be a swinger way back in the day, picked up all the ladies. Considering his top theory is he was an unemployed college dropout, that doesn't seem it's all that likely. Maybe it's a first overall, Alive or Dead.

"I think...that would be...fun," R tries to sound jazzed.

He hopes Julie turns up soon. It's hard to have a double date if they're missing one of the girls, R biting at his lip without realizing he's doing it. Howard distracts him by asking about his dream girl, R shooting him a startled look over his muzzle. What? Julie and him? Together? R's happy to be at the handholding stage with her - he's lucky to even get that far considering 1) he's a zombie 2) he killed her ex and 3) he's still a zombie. It's a pretty big buzzkill, the whole corpse thing. Murders your love life before you even realized you could have one. R hunches his shoulder and shrugs.

"We're...ffuhg...friends. She...could do...better." R ducks his head. She could. Anyone with a heartbeat would be a step up.

Then he tries to picture Julie holding hands with anyone else and he starts feeling his guts clenching and going even more cold. It's up in the air if that's leftover from Perry or it's all on his end.

"Maybe...I could...ask for...advice?" R offers that up. He knows he needs it but somehow the idea Howard might too doesn't strike him as that big of a stretch. The guy's a toothpick who sent a fangirl packing. Social skills aren't Howard's strong point. They might be a pair of lost causes here. "Before...the...double date."

"Hey, stop that." Howard reaches over and taps R's cold lip. At first it's unclear whether he's talking about R verbally beating himself up or about the lipbiting - the latter would be hypocritical, but then again, Howard's mouth heals from injuries, and R just seems to be hastening his decomposition.

"I mean, I guess I don't really like it when you put yourself down like that. It's like...I mean, what's it going to accomplish? If Julie wants to like you, fuck it, that's her decision if she wants to do a necrophilia thing. You don't got to protect her from her own decisions."

This strange nugget of wisdom comes from watching Orc drag himself down over months and months, going from a friend to a monster he forced himself to face with alcohol and self-hatred. It'd be easy for R to fall into that trap; self-pity has its siren song. Howard, too, succumbs to it more often than he'd like.

But he knows R's smart and generous and has that dry sense of humor. Maybe if R were someone different, but with the same brain, he and Howard would have a thing. Howard just doesn't know how to say these things without sounding weird, or without making it sound like a lie to paper over the very obvious fact that R's missing vital components (as in...vitals).

"Uh, advice? I was actually hoping to ask you, since I mean, what with you getting time to think about your words you're not a complete social catastrophe like I am." He holds a plate of shrimp out. "Want to try shoving this through your grate?"

It’s a small miracle Howard not only sticks his finger into the muzzle, he also pulls it back in one piece. Maybe it’s the fact R can’t smell him.

“I’m not…her type. It’s fff...fact. Last I checked…I’m still…Dead.”

R snaps his mouth shut. It’s nice what Howard says, and there’s a part of him that’s dumb and hopeful and wants to believe a human and a zombie can really have something. He hasn’t worked out if he was jealous of Perry or not. It seems unfair to feel that way considering he killed the poor guy. It’s too bad he can’t tell Howard exactly why he’s shy and toeing that line and it’s not entirely about the zombie thing either. Perry’s still here. Kinda still here. R ran out of his brain awhile ago…but it’s hard to shake the feeling that he’s still in the room. It’s way too complicated to get into with Howard. R doesn’t have the words or the will power to explain to Howard why zombies eat brains. So instead he’ll shrug and try to leave it at that.

He appreciates what Howard is trying to do, though. The whole cheering him up thing. He wishes he could say M and Howard would’ve kicked it off, except he’s sure M would’ve tried to eat the little guy first.

The zombie stares at the idea of Howard coming to him for advice. Really? Of all the people he could think of? R refuses to believe Howard doesn’t know anyone else who can help him, only Howard’s dropping his voice, almost whispering like he's embarrassed, and shoving shrimp at him at the same time.

“Okay,” R says, not sure why humans always want to throw different kinds of food at him. It’ll go down the same anyway. R does as he’s told and manages to get a few shrimp through the muzzle, chewing on it like it’s gristle. “…I don’t…remem….ber dates. Or…other stuff. Need...outside opin...nun.”

For all he knows, he could’ve died a virgin who didn’t even get to second base. It occurs to R they’ll need to bring out the big guns for this if it’s this bad. Go ask around for dating advice. Luckily R has some people in mind. He’s so on this, Howard.

"How do you know that's not her type? Looked like that might be her type to me." Howard shrugs. "I mean, she could broadcast it with some Hot Topic clothes, you know, fishnets and pancake makeup and those weird little corsets covered in spiderwebs and stuff, but I think..."

He kicks his feet up on the table and picks at some more of the shrimp. He's finally hit that point where he's had so many appetizers that he's not just shoving them down his gullet, and between that, the fact that he's had a little bit to drink, and the rocking of the boat, he's starting to feel a bit queasy. He wishes there was more non-alcoholic drinks here, because the base of his throat still feels like it's burning from the cocktail he had (it was supposed to taste like pineapple, and that was a flat-out lie, unless Panemian pineapples taste like hair dye).

"Well, I guess we could have a movie night or something? I mean, do you like movies? You seem like you'd have the attention span for them." The idea that maybe Hollywood doesn't exactly show the best ways to court a woman seems to entirely elude Howard. He doesn't know any adults to ask, at least, none who seem to have much luck with the ladies. Sigma has a son, but Howard would rather not talk to Sigma about personal things anymore.

Howard grins and chews on another shrimp. "We could watch My Boyfriend's Back," he says, then hums the titular song.

Every time R thinks he's starting to get Howard, the kid turns on him and starts rambling on about movies R doesn't remember and clothes from places that don't even exist anymore (probably). It's like Howard's speaking another language all of a sudden. The lost look R gives him has nothing to do with him being a zombie.

"Don't...know if they...have that...here." R doesn't recognize that song. "I can...watch. I'm game if...you...are."

R probably won't know a good movie if an Oscar winner hit him. Sound quality. Now that he can moan someone to death about what makes good sound quality. Anyway, it's better than talking about if Julie has a type. Howard means well. Really, he does. R gets that. But Julie's got options and a life ahead of her. R just can't picture her wanting to live the rest her days with a zombie who's busy decomposing on her.

That said, R's still willing to sit through movies or whatever Howard cooks up and get some tips on How to Date.

Eva. He'll ask Eva. She's lived longer, she's got to have experience. It's fool-proof. R looks lost in thought, the zombie refocusing in time to watch Howard picking his way through the shrimp. He can mow his way through them, as far as R's concerned.

Howard just likes to talk. He likes to babble. It gives his mouth and brain something distracting to do, and that's better than letting himself alone with awkward pauses and with the teeming hive of thoughts in his head.

He wonders if R's seen what happened in the Games after he left them with Hyperion, and an uncomfortable resentment burbles up in the muck of his mind. He knows that it's not R's fault R had to leave, that it was the only strategic decision, but he can't help but feel just a little bit left behind, left to his own defenses against another psychopath. Left to take his own life or be tortured.

So he chatters some more to drive the thought away. Mindless conversation is like the circle of salt for the ghosts of yesterday.

"You know me, I'm always game for this kind of thing. It'll be a nice change of pace from the Murder CNN they got playing all the time here, and I think Eponine will like it. She doesn't have many friends, you know? I think knowing you and Julie and, and Wyatt, I think that'll be good for her." He picks at his own lips, ignoring that he just told R to do the opposite. "It weird, isn't it? You'd think no one would make friends here in the Games but..."

He toys with a shrimp on his plate. "You're my friend."

Yeah, R might have figured he likes to babble by now. Even a zombie can pick that up. It beats the silence and the groans. R’ll take the babbling.

“Thank you…Howard,” R’s touched all over again. It’s nice of Howard to say that, really nice, especially after he almost ate him in the Arena. “You’re…my friend…too. She's lucky.”

R means it, even if he hasn’t met Eponine yet but he’s heard the way Howard talks, seen the way his face looks more alive than it’s ever looked before, even topping Sinatra and Elvis. R would be more than happy to do that double date with them if it makes Howard happy. He’s sure Julie would too. Funnily enough R hasn’t thought about “if” she comes back, the zombie so distracted that he can’t think in abstracts and what if’s. R’s hand reaches out to pat Howard on his scrawny knee, a clumsy one-two-three like he’s trying to remember if this is what bros do. It feels right. Like a gut feeling and R can say he’s still capable of those, to some extent (he has his guts, unlike some other corpses).

It occurs to R that he might be the luckiest zombie in the world right now. Friends, plural; the hunger is a buzz, and he's still here, able to sit here with Howard and listen to him talk.

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Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

Re: Howard | OTA

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it's so cute when R doesn't eat Howard's hand

R reigns it in for his bro

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