The Crowning of Cullen Rutherford

[etcircenses]

Who| Everyone who's anyone.
What| The Crowning of Cullen Rutherford.
Where| The new Rutherford Castle.
When| Friday, late afternoon into the evening.
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, so no funny business.
WARNINGS| Please warn appropriately in headers.

The crowning ceremony takes place in an approximation of Skyhold, a large fortress with a castle with a sweeping main hall, gardens, and two levels of courtyard. Flags and banners hang everywhere, some with heraldry of the Inquisition, some with the heraldry of the Templar Order, a nod to Cullen's old days as a Templar. And of course, just as prominent everywhere you look is the seal of the Capitol. Just in case anyone forgot where they were.

The medieval fashion (or as close of approximation to medieval as the Capitol as gotten) that had come in with the 13th arena is back in full swing. There's plenty of fake armor to be seen, and foam swords resting on Capitolite hips. Sweeping ballgowns can be spotted as well, and a few more savvy people seem to have come dressed in a strange red and gold uniform. The avoxes do their best to blend in to the environment with drab brown peasant outfits.

In the main hall, tables filled with medieval food have been set up on both sides of the walls, filled with approximations of medieval food--As far as the Capitolites are concerned, that means normal food, but with a tendency for venison and large turkey legs. There are even dainty little cakes for dessert. Along the walls, above the food tables, hang multiple pictures. Featuring in this galley are every native of Thedas that had come to Panem at one point or another, all of them dressed in dour blacks of funeral wear, save the four remaining Thedasians. But of course, there are plenty of pictures of the Victor, starting with Cullen has a chubby blond child, going into him as an awkward young Templar (there's even a picture of him talking to a woman that the title identifies as Warden Amell), going through unfortunate hair cuts, and of course, various pictures of him in Panem, capturing a variety of touching and painful moments.

It all culminates when you get to the end of the hall, where there rests a massive throne just for Cullen. And behind it, the largest picture of them all, a massive portrait of Cullen. Adella stands next to him, holding an infant in her arms. Maxwell and Tabris are, for some reason, also featured in this family portrait, and you have to wonder if the artist in question didn't perhaps ship the ever popular Maxullen, because Maxwell's hand was looking awfully chummy on Cullen's shoulder.

The bottom courtyard has been set up with stalls, where you can buy foam swords and shields, little mabari plushes, and even a lion helmet. There's also little wedding toppers, shaped just like Cullen and Adella, and framed pictures of most of the art that hangs in the main hall. The nearby stables have been stocked with a variety of mounts, from the standard horses to more exotic harts, a strange dragon-like creature, and...no one is really sure what this is, but it...looks interesting?

In the upper courtyard, there's the Herald's Rest, a real, rustic tavern, with a woman playing a guitar and singing various songs. All the songs seem to revolve around how great the Capitol is, which kind of offsets the mood, but it's the thought that counts, right? It doesn't help that the bar has been outfitted to serve all kinds of modern drinks, but who wants plain ale, anyway? Outside of the tavern is a practice ring, where people can put to use their fake swords and shields, either trying to maul each other, or a target. Several peacekeepers offset the aesthetic feel in uncompromising white, carefully watching all participants to make sure that everyone is playing nicely.

If everything is just a little too busy for you, the garden is left in quiet peace. A woman dressed in red and white robes will occasionally begin speaking, extolling the virtues of the Capitol, and President Snow in a lengthy monologue.

There are a few actors wandering around, appearing as various people who have made an impact on Cullen's life. There's the mysterious Warden Amell, a man in full armor, and a woman dressed similarly. These two will wander around, swords in hand, ready to smack anyone with foam swords and accuse them of being blood mages. One actress is dressed like a certain Marian Hawke who had at one time been a tribute. She darts around the fortress, stopping people and regaling them with highly exaggerated tales of things that Cullen has supposedly done. There's even a few creatures running around that people may recognize from the last arena, such as the tastefully almost-nude desire demon that will occasionally try to sidle up to people--usually to be driven off by one of the people in armor.

There's one more addition to the party--dogs! A very specific kind of dog. Several dogs simply wander around Skyhold, trying to steal people's food and begging for attention. Next to the throne are four particularly handsome ones, each one with a collar baring the name of one of the four Thedasians left.

If wandering around Skyhold and competing with swords leaves you dry-mouthed, you're in luck! Dotted around the area are fountains that all pour a strange, bright blue punch. Listen closely, because the fountain seems to be humming a strange tune. If you have a careful eye, you might even find the one that has red punch pouring out if it, humming an oddly sinister tune.

Well, what harm could there be in going ahead and trying it out anyway?

Comments

Psiioniic || Open

[biiowiired]

A: stupid mask

This was one of the less painful Crownings; anything was better than a model Drone or helmstroll station. However, Psii entered the party feeling miserable and trying to keep to himself. Psii's golden half armor and (dress? robe? probably dress) was surprisingly comfortable, despite its length. That was a mercy after two weeks of literal insanity in the arena, his mind ripped into paranoid tatters by the mask's effects. He knew now that was what caused it. A soon as he was left to his own devices, he whipped off a delicate half mask that came with his outfit and "accidentally" dropped it into the red fountain.

Hopefully there weren't any dumbasses stupid enough to fish it out and hand it back to him. His internal screaming might just become reality. His mind was healed physically from the influence of the arena's mask, but the memories of last week were still raw. He was not at his best, and everyone saw it.

B: the party don't start till i get drunk and set something on fire

Psii gravitated towards The Herald's Rest and its irresponsibility beverages. His instinct was to drown his sorrows and forget his last drawn-out days spent frothing at the mouth about imagined attacks. His original timeline self—the Helmsman—died alone and insane, too. These things were due to no fault of his, but he felt like shit for it anyway.

Psii had a habit bordering on honored tradition, whenever the Capitol or even a friend put on a high-profile event. It involved reminiscing about the dearly departed, contemplating the current shitty state of affairs, and arson. The stuffed animals in the lower courtyard were fair game. He fished out some cigarettes he'd stolen from Signless (he didn't smoke) and began pestering people for a light.

"Doethn't anyone have a fire-thtarting devithe in thith goddamn bar?" he slurred drunkenly. If anyone could understand him through the alcohol and his lisp, it would be a miracle.

B

[ka_sera_sera]

Luckily for the Psiionic, the drunken slur is a fine tradition popular in every world and so Roland has some experience in translating it. He's got some experience translating this particular lisp, too, and between those two sets of experience he can grasp at least the gist of what the Psiionic is saying.

"'fraid you ruined your chance," Roland says, breaking the silence in which he's been watching Psiionic in order to advise him. "No tribute's allowed one, so you'll have to charm a Capitolite for it. Not sure you could charm anyone in this state - frankly, I'd like to see you try." Roland's voice is dry, and he's not judging. He's mocking. There's an important difference.

[biiowiired]

Psii didn't even notice Roland was there, so involved in being sloshed was he. Rude of him, really, not to make himself obvious. Also rude of him to mock when Psii was still perfectly capable of standing straight. Somewhat.

"That'th what I'm trying to do, shit-for-brainth," he grumbled without much force. "Quit cramping my thtyle and make thome thpathe. They're wearing huge thtupid hatth tonight." His amiable lilt returned without preamble, and he chuckled and slumped against the wall. "I wonder if thothe are flammable, too."

He gave a passing Capitolite a slow, torturous wink, every eyelash implying he'd do dastardly things for a smoke. Heavy drinking never inspired good judgment. According to Psii's "excellent" judgment, he was super fucking charming.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland watches the recipient of that charm with some interest, wondering if they'll take it as the Psiionic intended or take it as they ought. Before they can decide he settles on the wall next to where the Psiionic is slumped, crosses his arms over his chest, and gives them a look. The look. That one that, for some reason, tends to make people uncomfortable. No clue why. He's only looking at them.

"Sooner or later someone is going to notice that people on fire tend to follow you. What'll you do then?" The question's casual, because he's not trying to convince the Psiionic of anything. Probably couldn't, not right now. Part of it's that he's curious as to what the man'll say. Part of it's just wanting to be able to say 'I told you so', later.

[biiowiired]

"If I didn't know any better, Human Roland, I'd thay you were trying to thcare off my prothpectth by looking like an overprotective mate. You don't want to encourage the wrong rumorth, athhat. And for your information, Mr. Projectile Weapon Fondler, it wathn't people I wath aiming for." This time.

Psii was lucid enough to shut his mouth in case of microphones. There were cameras too, of course, but he never missed an opportunity to make tracking him a little harder. He pointed towards the stands full of stuffed animals.

"My intended victimth. They're too happy and complathent."

[ka_sera_sera]

It may be clear that Roland's first instinct is not, shockingly, to trust him. Roland eyes the Psiionic's expression, eyes the stated victims. "Mhm. You can find a smoke and say you tripped."

He gives a pointed look down the Psiionic and up again. "Shouldn't be hard to convince anyone, that part. As to the rest - are you sure that's all?"

Here, Roland's penetrating look could mean anything. 'Is that all you're planning,' or maybe, 'are you sure that's what's actually eating you,' though, those are the main two. Or, also likely, 'tell me if you're about to get yourself in trouble,' although that is usually implied.

[biiowiired]

"I could athk why you're thtaring at me tho intently, but I already know I'm beautiful." 

Psii actually had pretty shitty self-esteem, but that just doubled all his bluster. He deftly ignored the fact that Roland was simply suspicious of him, if anything. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence should be.

"And, yeth, that ith all I want to do. I definitely don't want to just go to my rethpiteblock and not talk to anyone becauthe I'm too buthy thmothering mythelf in my tribbleth, not at all."

Psii's eyes suddenly blazed sharply into focus, the drunken fog momentarily gone. Psii had a bad habit of being ascerbic even towards friends who obliquely asked how he was. What was the point? Everyone must know what happened already, so of course they must know how he felt.

[ka_sera_sera]

"Smother yourself later," Roland says, easy, because the more the Psiionic tries to incite some reaction the more bland and casual Roland's manner is going to become. "If you did it now the Capitolites would probably just put it up on their TVs."

[biiowiired]

"Now you're being the thtraight troll on purpothe, jerkath," Psii snapped. The effect was comically ruined by a slur to his words, and he knew it. He felt like such a loser. He couldn't even affect proper anger. "Why can't you jutht let me be thuper pithed off and thet thingth on fire? Why do you have to act like a lump of charred meat in addition to looking like one and thcaring off all my inthendiary prothpectth?"

[ka_sera_sera]

Now that gets a reaction, at least, in that it gets Roland to look at the Psiionic again. He studies him, and decides what the man needs is bald truth. "Because I've never been to a land where the line between 'gossip fodder' and 'canon fodder' is so thin as it is in this one. Because I don't want to see another friend arrested, or tortured into servitude, or dead. Because if you can't keep yourself careful enough right now to keep from those things, I'll do what I can in your stead. Which you could have figured out for yourself, if you'd tried to stop sulking and looked beyond your own head for a couple seconds."

[biiowiired]

Psii listed like a tree in strong winds, and took slightly longer than usual to speak. Even geniuses with rapidly firing synapses were susceptible to alcohol. The potential ramifications of his actions did not seem so serious at the moment, but the look on Roland's face gave him pause.

"I didn't actually exthpect you to anthwer that, Roland, let alone lecture me like a goddamn luthuth. I exthpected you to shrug and leave me to my own devitheth." And more soberly, "I gueth being a royal pain in the ath ith why you're my friend."

A!

[weaintashes]

Another arena dwindled to a close, another murder celebration followed, and Daryl could still barely stomach it. It was difficult mustering any interest in social events to begin with, but Crownings were especially tedious because of their mandatory nature. He prowled for a while on his own, hoping for a familiar face amongst the crowd, and eventually came to a stop near the lone red fountain. The reddened reflected light lent a vaguely sinister feel to the highly burnished black armour he wore, and a heavy furred cloak trailed behind him, emblazoned with his usual wing motif. An elegant bow and quiver of arrows were slung across his back, props made with enough realism to draw the attentive eyes of several Peacekeepers.

The discarded mask sinking into the fountain before him roused him from his thoughts and he glanced upward at the culprit, not immediately recognising him. The gold half-armour and dress were — striking? Blinding was more accurate. It took a moment for his bling-stung eyes to make sense of the guest's features, and when they did he nearly recoiled.

It wasn't Psii's fault. He'd quite obviously been out of his mind the last couple weeks of the arena, and it had been Daryl's choice to stay and try to help him as best he could, before—... It had happened so fast, his death, but there was little doubt as to who had caused it. He didn't blame his districtmate for that, either.

"Psii?" No longer having to compete with a howling storm to be heard, it was his usual quiet drawl, edged with unease as he took in the state Psii was in. Maybe it wasn't the best time to approach him.

Re: A!

[biiowiired]

Killing someone who was attacking him was fine, but Psii had sworn off the callous indifference the usual Alternian had towards life. He couldn't just write it off as collateral damage. His powers had told him that every death in the arena was real, even if they were shoved back into new bodies again the next day. There was always a chance someone might not come back.

Psii flinched as though struck. He'd been trying to escape the memory the costume mask had put him in mind of, but here was Daryl in the flesh. What disturbed Psii most was that he didn't even remember killing him. Maybe his mind had blocked it out, or he had been too far gone to register it. Gossip and arena stats had to fill in the gaps, and by the time he found out what he'd done, he was already camping in his respiteblock, refusing to come out.

Though it was hard to tell with his particular set of eyes, his gaze darted from Daryl's armor to his bow and quiver. He clearly had the advantage if he wanted to grab Psii by the horns and bash his head open on the fountain. Taut from horn to toe, he thought about throwing away what little social graces he had and running. But first, there was a compulsive need of his to sate:

"I'm thorry," he blurted out.

[weaintashes]

For someone who had known virtually nothing but violence during his formative years, there was a remarkable and distinct lack of it in Daryl, in his actions and dealings with others. Vengeance was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

"Me too." Because of only really being able to stand by helplessly as the madness had consumed Psii. It had been horrifying to witness. "M'glad you came back," he added, and the hand he raised now wasn't with the intent to seek retribution or cause harm, but rather to rub the back of his own neck with ill-concealed anxiety. He'd already known his districtmate had been revived, so this wasn't a revelation — but he hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in quite a while, making this the first real opportunity they'd had for a conversation.

The troll's tense posture hadn't escaped his notice and it made him even more wary, but he pressed on, hoping his words wouldn't inadvertently escalate the situation into something ugly.

"And so we're clear... I ain't blamin' you for anything that happened." Wouldn't be fair to assign blame, anyway. Psii would just have to square it away with his own conscience, or not, as he saw fit.

[biiowiired]

Psii's instincts were conditioned in an environment that didn't treat him as a person. He expected to be beaten and punished for tiny infractions, not to mention big ones. He'd run away from that life, but the scars resurfaced at the worst times. He couldn't help it. He flinched again as Daryl raised his hand.

"You can't jutht take a death and be perfectly fucking okay with it," he uttered incredulously. His red and blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're jutht trying to get me off my guard."

A

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Dude, you dropped something." Nitou's not actually making any move to help with that, mostly because he can't--the armor that his Stylists have wedged him into is remarkably unforgiving as far as movement is concerned. He can't bend down to help fish that out.

Re: A

[biiowiired]

Psii hadn't expected anyone to be watching. He turned and saw an uncomfortable-looking Kousuke Nitou wearing some restricting armor. Inwardly, Psii was glad he had a bit more range of movement that him. He was also glad Nitou didn't pluck the mask out of the water.

That didn't mean he wasn't annoyed with him for pointing it out anyway.

"Whatever, shove off, it'th too late to get it now," he snapped.

[infinitemayonnaise]

"I wish I could lose part of my outfit," Nitou says a little wistfully, completely failing to pick up on why Psii might be snapping like that. "Then maybe I could move." No, he can't begrudge anyone for wanting to lose part of their ridiculous Crowning getup.

[biiowiired]

"Well boo-hoo, life ith tho hard," Psii drawled acerbically. His compassion meter was all out of juice at the moment. In fact, the urge to push this human into the water was strong....

No. He'd had enough of inflicting wayward acts of violence on people. The arena had seen to that. Poor Daryl Dixon. He died as he lived, surrounded by shit weather and questionable allies.

[infinitemayonnaise]

"What, you can't help me lose a little piece of it? So I can move?" Nitou pleads. Come on, dude, don't leave him hanging!

[biiowiired]

Psii stared at him a long moment, torn between belligerence and shared misery. It was a tough, tough choice.

"Fine. Get over here. How doeth thith shit work?"

[infinitemayonnaise]

"I don't know, man, they shoved me in here so fast..." Nitou shuffles over in that direction. "But I think there's a button or two somewhere? Maybe? Or a latch?"

[biiowiired]

"I'm a fucking geniuth when it cometh to complicated shit like thith, hold thtill."

His face twisted into various configurations as he scrutinized Nitou's outfit. It took the hacker a little longer than it would an actual fashion designer, but eventually he found the clasps and undid the relevant ones.

"Try it now, but be careful. Wouldn't want your thtylitht after your blood—or more importantly, mine."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"I can handle my Stylist, don't worry. I think an intern did this one, anyway." Nitou's moving around a little experimentally. It's a definite improvement. "Oh, sweet! I owe you one, man."

[biiowiired]

He heaved a sigh and raised his eyes to the ceiling. (Difficult to tell with his particular set, but that was fine.)

"Well, at leatht thomeone'th happy here. Wouldn't want thith tacky party to be a total butht. I'd totally cry about it over my nextht manicure, totally. Hey, thinthe you owe me one, get me a drink of the thtrongetht thtuff they have."