The Crowning of Enjolras

[etcircenses]

WHO| All Tributes and Victor, plus a few Capitol guests
WHAT| The Crowning of Enjolras
WHERE| The Tribute Center
WHEN| A few weeks after the end of the Arena
WARNINGS| Forced medical experimentation, needles.

The atmosphere surrounding the Crowning is both tense and secretive. The style teams flutter around listlessly, having received no information from which to draft their designs. Newspapers take bets on when it will be announced where the Crowning is being held, descending into grousing when no press release is given. Peacekeepers pour in and out of the Tribute Center, accompanied by scientists who occasionally pull Tributes aside and look at the veins in their elbows. Even the Avoxes seem jumpier than usual.

Aside from the Tribute Center's new giant marble statute of a nude Enjolras, posed like the famed David, one could almost forget the party is supposed to be celebratory.

When the day arrives, the Escorts and their assistants don't lead the Tributes to their style teams to be gussied instead. Instead, they hush the Tributes and bring them to their bedrooms, where a Peacekeeper, a white-coated citizen and several Avoxes await them. The Escorts instruct the Tributes to lay down in their bed and close their eyes, and a needle is inserted into their arms that the Escorts insist will 'take them to the party'. It's soon followed by a series of sensors taped to the forehead.

Just relax, the Escorts say, and they do their very best to make sure their Tributes feel minimal anxiety. If the Tributes resist too much, more Peacekeepers are called in, and the Tributes are forced into submission.

The first effect is a sort of paralysis - not the terrifying inability to move, but a signal to the brain that says why move? Moving is so much effort. It's quickly followed by drowsiness, and then a chill that radiates from the needle into the body, and finally, unconsciousness.

And that is when the party begins. The Tributes, now dressed in luxurious 1830's French clothing of a quality beyond even what their Stylists could manage, wake up in the front row of a large stone theater setting reminiscent of, simultaneously, Greek and French architecture. The floor of the theater is filled with buffets of every imaginable sort of food. Rose petals fall from the sky, which displays a sunset worthy of award-winning photography.

For his part, Enjolras sits in a throne made of books on the ring of the amphitheater, flanked by Marius, Cosette, Eponine, and bizarrely enough Venus Dee Milo and Ellie, seated on lush pillows and carpets made of dinosaur skin (with the heads comically attached and eyes lolling).

"Welcome, welcome, our Tributes and Mentors, to the first ever somnofestival, sponsored by Hypnogogia!" Caesar Flickerman, noted talkshow host and Games presenter, appears in a fabulous sequined toga in the center of the amphitheater. He doesn't need a microphone; the acoustics here are flawless. "And congratulations to our Victor! Let us hear it for Enjolras!"

He awaits applause.

"As you may have noticed, you're inside a shared dream, due to the just fantastic technology from the Capitol and certain, ah, biological contributions from our dear favorite Aunamee." He holds a hand out and gestures to Aunamee, anticipating wild applause. "We thought that for our most philosophical Victor yet, we should celebrate in a way that's a little bit…cerebral."

Caesar laughs and gestures at all the food, then puts a cheeky finger to his lips. "By all means, enjoy yourselves. Even the most indulgent desserts here won't show up on your hips tomorrow. The party only last three hours, so you might as well get started!"

He vanishes into thin air, leaving the Tributes to celebrate. Occasionally, the Tributes will hear voices in their heads - chatter from the Peacekeeper and scientist and Escort still in their room, in the waking world. Otherwise, this is a party like any other, if somewhat surreal in nature.

-/-

The party begins the same way for all the Tributes. For an unlucky few, however, it soon diverges as they come under an unfortunate glitch in the system.

They'll look around and find only a handful of their fellow Tributes around them. The sky, rather than being a magnificent splay of color, is now blank white, and yet the lighting in the theater seems dim. A sense of panic, detached from any conscious thoughts, surges forth in them like the tide.

For them, this isn't a shared dream. This is a shared nightmare.

Comments

[gluteus]

"I feel like I should be a seer," Maximus joked, though he knew the joke was two thousand years too late. He hadn't even noticed the petals collecting on his head and he tipped his chin to follow their fluttering fall to the floor.

"I can't say if I prefer it or not," He said lowly. "My crowning wasn't exactly pleasant." Nor was the fight that he'd had with Wyatt afterward.

[the_marshal]

"None of 'em are," he murmured, "but at least those didn't require them crawlin' around in my head."

It was so direct a reminder of how little they had was actually theirs, how easily it could be taken away, twisted around and made to hurt.

He forced out a breath, trying to ease himself for Max's sake, and brushed a knuckle against the gleaming medals on the man's chest.

"But I 'spose we can count it a plus that yer not painted up again at least."

[gluteus]

Maximus wasn't sure what he thought about them being able to get into his dreams, but then, he'd never considered his dreams a place of his. Gods often walked into dreams, after all. As did seers. They didn't exist only for him, as much as he'd like to believe it sometimes. But he didn't say anything about it - he didn't want to undermine Wyatt's concerns.

When he spoke of his outfit, however, a smile flickered over his lips though he tried his best to smother it.

"Hm? Is there a specific reason you'd rather I wasn't slathered in gold paint?" He asked, teasingly, and the grin would not be fought down.

[the_marshal]

"It was a fine look for ya, Max," he replied with a chuckle, that low rumbling laugh as warmth eased up from under collar. "But I'm sorry to say, it didn't taste nearly as good."

And explaining the glitter away, sparkling damningly in his mustache had taken some doing.

If he hadn't know better, he'd have said Max's stylists had known exactly what they were doing.

[gluteus]

The grin was impossible to smother and Maximus was forced to look away and clear his throat to regain his composure before he could look at Wyatt again.

"Yes, well. I assure you there's no paint beneath this particular outfit," He murmured, low enough for only Wyatt's ears. "Though I suppose this doesn't exist outside of this dream," He mused, turning his cuff around his wrist to get a good look at it.

He looked up, glanced back behind them. "Usually I dream of wheat."

[the_marshal]

One of his eyebrows raised, a grin to match Max's pulling at his lips, but before he could comment, Max had shifted the conversation.

Max had spoken of his home often enough for Wyatt to recognize what the man meant.

He sobered, looking out at the crowd, at the newest victor on his throne in the distance. He recognized Ellie, at the end of the line, but none of the others.

He didn't dream of constant things. Sometimes sunlight, sometimes the stars. Sometimes he could smell horseflesh or hear his brother's voices. The one regular visitor felt wrong to mention, to the face of Max's confession.

"Maybe next time they'll work that in for ya."

[gluteus]

It'd been so long since Wyatt had become a regular fixture in his dreams that he didn't even think about how the comment might have sounded. Wyatt had long been part of the little farm that he held somewhere deep in his heart.

"Mm, somehow I think they would find it all too boring," He said, oblivious of Wyatt's mood change.

He offered a small smile instead. "Perhaps one day I will actually be allowed a retirement and we can make it a reality."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt was silent for a moment. Suddenly, as Max spoke, thinking of something he'd meant to say before, but that had gotten lost in everything that happened since his return.

"Ya know I'm sorry, Max," he said softly, looking at Max sidelong, "I did try."

He never wanted to be in the arena, but for the first time he'd wanted to win. Still not for himself, but for Max.

[gluteus]

Maximus frowned, finally coming to realise Wyatt's mood through the hazy pleasure of his own, and he reached out to squeeze the man's shoulder, meeting his eye firmly.

"Wyatt. I saw your end. You met it with honour. There's nothing else I would ever ask of you."

[the_marshal]

"I know, Max. I know ya wouldn't. I jus'--"

He reached out in turn, needing as much as wanting, and slipped an arm around him, daring there - just for a moment - to curl his fingers over Max's hip, before falling away again.

(It was a dream, but not his.)

"I wanted to live."

Had something he wanted to live for.

[gluteus]

"Next time." He said it with a surety, and he had it: he would see Wyatt free, or he would die trying.

"Please, do not trouble yourself." He let the hand fall away in order to uncork the bottle, and then held it out. "Share a drink with me?"

[the_marshal]

He smiled again, at that, small, but genuine. Eased as always by Max.

The steady tie that bound him.

"I'd like that very much," he replied, mouth curled gently as he turned to find a glass. (That one seemed to appear where he didn't recall one sitting just moment's before probably should have troubled him, but he was beginning to accept the bizarre new twist.) Plucking up two, he held them under the open mouth of the bottle for Max to pour. "What do'ya think it'll taste like, dream wine?"

[gluteus]

He couldn't even remember where the wine had come from, but he wasn't very troubled by it as he poured them both a class.

"I doubt I could tell you. This is no ordinary dream, after all." Once the glasses were poured, he put the bottle back on the table, and it looked as full as when he had picked it up.

[the_marshal]

He brought his glass up to his nose, sniffing lightly - a little darker, maybe, a little sweeter than any he'd known, but familiar enough - and held out Max's to him.

"What'll we drink to?"

[gluteus]

Maximus smothered down the impulse to say what he had been going to say - the fact that he was in a dream was making it more difficult to think straight and avoid just doing what he would had they been in private - so he struggled for a second and then said, "Retirement," in a gruff voice.

He took the glass from Wyatt and then gently tapped it against his before taking a long drink.

It was bizarre, as liquid didn't quite feel like liquid when he drank it in this place, and it didn't give him the warm heady feeling that wine tended to, and he was having a hard time concentrating on the rest of the party and it wasn't helped by the fact that tendrils of something were snaking up out of the ground and seemingly winding themselves into a screen around them.

When he realised what was happening it suddenly felt very strange and he kicked at it, and the tendrils dissipated. After. He told himself firmly. He'd go visit Wyatt after this strange exercise was done.

Even if he did have both legs, here.

[the_marshal]

It didn't taste like wine. It was too warm on his tongue, and despite it's sweet scent, held a bitter edge. Like salt.

Like steel, and leather.

Memory tickled along the back of his neck, warming in his chest like a regular drink would have done for him, and just as he was realizing what it was, just as he was spotting that same cloying haze gathering around them, Max was kicking out.

As if the man had kicked him, he snapped back, remembering sharply, suddenly, where they were and that, even being dream, they were being watched.

"Sooner, rather than later," he added with a cough, setting the rest of his glass back down on the table.

[gluteus]

Maximus chuckled, despite himself, and took another long drink of the strange not-wine before setting it down on the table. It was difficult, he noted dimly to himself, being around Wyatt in a situation like this. He wasn't a man who enjoyed acting against his nature, and his nature tended him towards Wyatt with an almost inexorable pull.

He cleared his throat and satisfied himself by reaching out and squeezing Wyatt's shoulder gently.

[the_marshal]

The line had always been thin for Wyatt when it came Max. The things he wanted to do, and the things he did more often than not one and same. But had been one, however small, now, even that divide had been washed away by the tide. That sweeping realization, the rush of understanding.

Love had freed him, and thrown him ever further into Max's gravity. (And he'd never been happier for the falling.)

Looking up at the touch, his mouth pulled, a fond, warm smile, as easy as he'd ever given; and he reached out in turn, palm grazing the back of Max's neck, settling with a soft pat and a light squeeze.

[gluteus]

"I suppose I should make the rounds," Maximus said sadly, after a long few moments of holding himself back and just standing comfortably in Wyatt's presence.

"Dream or no, we're probably meant to do our work." He paused, and frowned. "And if they do not allow me to enter the next arena--" He cut himself off, shook his head. "I should speak to the sponsors."

[the_marshal]

Wyatt still couldn't say that he wanted to see Max in the arena again, but he could understand why Max would want to be. If things were different - if it were him, in Max's place... he wouldn't him go alone either.

Not before, not now.

"'Spose I should do the same." He kneaded the knot in the back of Max's neck, a heartbeat to soothe them both, then withdrew with a small smile. "It'll be alright, Max. Whatever happens."

[gluteus]

He let out a low disgruntled sound, though it wasn't one of disagreement. They would face what came, he knew. He just wasn't sure that automatically made things 'alright'.

He had a battle to face, though it wasn't as uphill of one as it might have been otherwise: Wyatt was a clear favourite, after all. He just had to tip public opinion more firmly in the man's favour.

The trouble was, he had never been a good politician.

"When we awaken - you'll come see me?" Maximus asked, lowly, though he tried to keep it seemingly casual.

[the_marshal]

He had to restrain his response, the warm kick in his chest wanting for more than the small, easy smile he forced himself to settle for.

Three hours, he reminded himself as he nodded. Three hours here, for the Capitol, then they could steal some time for themselves.

"Thought ya'd never ask," he told him, clapping Max on the back before he willed himself to pull away and step back.

Moving on before he lost himself completely and damned the consequences.