thecapitol | The Crowning of Enjolras

The Crowning of Enjolras

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.

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"Okay." She's made her living being a distraction, the new fireworks to distract from the smoke of the old ones. She suspects she's more a distraction than a person in her own right, sometime.

"Where I'm from, we've already put a man on the moon." Superpowers, mutation - how to explain superheroes when the science of them has so evolved even since Venus' own childhood? She decides to avoid the topic. No need to explain that if she has her abilities, a trip to the moon is as easy as sighing. "We made aeroplanes that could fly and we explored space because we could. And people like me - women, black women - we could vote, I could vote since I was eighteen. And..."

She grasps at something to distract him, trying to blow his mind and thus draw it back from all the anxiety he's found himself in. "And France is still a country. I've been there a few times, on vacation. It's beautiful. And I don't think it has a king anymore."

For the first time since the Arena his smile almost reaches his eyes. The scientific progress is something he can marvel at later, but the idea of what she's describing -- universal suffrage and a France without a King -- are things that immediately catch his interest. She could be humoring him, of course, telling him things he would simply want to hear, but it's comforting all the same.

"Where have you been? Paris, I presume? Tell me of your politics, as well, I would like to know how the great democratic experiment is fairing." Without even realizing it, he leans into her, closing some of the space between them. His questions are enthusiastic, and with the energy in his voice with very mood of the decorations around the table seems to lift. Abruptly the lighting is cheerier and everything is less austere. "I admired the writing of your founding fathers. Their French was not so good, or I have been told, but their ideas had merit."

"Paris, obviously. I don't know if there was an Eiffel Tower when you were around, but I stood on the very top. I been to Nice to see the mountains, Cannes for a film festival."

She reaches over and puts a hand to his shoulder, not to stroke him but as if to steady him, to ground him like a stake in the earth. She digs deep back in her mind for high school government and comes up largely blank. "We elect our president every four years. We have, um, Congress and a Supreme Court, and free speech and all that...sorry, I don't know how a lot of it works. I had to drop out before I finished high school."

"Free speech is one of the greatest ideals of your society. It was your Thomas Jefferson who stated that 'information is the currency of a democracy', if I am not mistaken, and this is most certainly true. I love France more than I can ever say and I believe that my people are capable of far more than they would do in my time, but there are aspects of your society which I envy." He needs her to steady him, her touch is reassuring and keeps him from taking proverbial lift off, even as his speech quickens. The final thought she adds makes his heart drop, however. Public education should have been standard, nay, compulsory by her time. What had prevented her from completing her schooling when she was clearly more intelligent than she gave herself credit for being?

"You had to work?" He asks softly, finally, after a brief pause which he takes to catch his breath. "At université I had a friend, a man who was unable to finish his studies because he had to return to work. I should have liked to believe that things would have changed in the time between our lives."

"You might not be saying that if you say what we were using our free speech for. I'm betting even without our current situation, you wouldn't be huge on reality TV. Or half of our talk radio." She grins and jerks her head to the side, a kind of nervous habit of self-deprecation. She squeezes his shoulder.

"Yeah, you could say that. I had to work." She'd had to take time off after her third suicide attempt, but she doesn't like to drag her bones and bodies out in front of others. The dream seems to disagree with her, though, because rather suddenly her forearms seem to become smoke, though her hands and elbows are still working fine. As it's a dream, she's not bothered by it; something in her mind says that her arms will be back to normal soon enough. "I lost my family when I was eleven, and the state only supports you for so long, and only so much."

"But it is that I can disagree with something that makes it great. It is very easy to hold opinions in my country, it is less easy to express them in any meaningful way. And furthermore, my personal tastes should not be what dictates the behaviors thoughts of others. Propriety, certainly, but..." He trails off, waving his hand vaguely between them as he searches for the correct way to express the sentiment. "I believe that we should be allowed to disagree. You and I, and anyone else. Disagreement is, perhaps, the most basic element of a proper democracy."

It's difficult, he thinks, this habit they have of carrying multiple conversations simultaneously. Either of their present tangents could probably contain them for hours were it not for the distractions whirring around them. He struggles for something to say again, but it's with a somber pursing of his lips that he ultimately gives up. Any expression of sympathies is inadequate. Not just for the loss of her family, but also for the likely irreparable damage it did to the course of her life. "I am sorry for your loss, my friend."

Gently, he places an hand on her arm above her elbow. It's meant to be reassuring, but still seems deficient and awkward to him.

"Well, your 'propriety' gets uptight when I wear tank tops, so I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Venus, on the other hand, is grateful that they can leave it at that. She doesn't want to crawl deeper into the memories of her past, because that means either lies ("I like to think I'm okay anyway, I don't miss them that much") or confession ("I think it was my fault, I can barely live with myself"). She gives him a sad smile and puts her hand over his on her elbow, as if to preserve the moment in her mind, trying to bring herself to look as happy and jocular as she usually does.

But she can feel that failing, feel the muscles in her cheeks twitch and her eyes burn, and as much out of a desire to obscure her face as curiosity and need, she leans forward and gently presses her lips to his.

He had been smiling wryly, encouraging of her teasing, reminding him of their first meeting and his ridiculous behavior during it. In truth, his perceptions hadn't changed all that much. The sight of her in the thin camisole she wears with her pajamas still makes him blush and advert his eyes.

Even if he had been paying attention to her movements, however, and trapped in his own thoughts, there was nothing that could have prepared him for the kiss. It was different from than it had been with Valeria. Her kiss was quick and teasing, playful and not meant to be taken seriously in any way. It was a sexual advance, not to be understood as anything else. This was chaste and pure emotion. He couldn't help but think the latter was far more complicated than the former.

His eyes close, but he remains in place. It's not quite condoning or encouraging, but it's not quite a rejection either. When she pulls away he regards her with a serious expression, caught somewhere between pensive and perplexed. "What do you mean by this, mademoiselle?"

She pauses. For all her guile, she's not actually had much experience kissing, and she isn't sure how to respond to the way there just wasn't a spark there.

"Oh, um." Venus' cheeks flush and her lip darts underneath her upper teeth. "Was that not what was happening right then?"

Of course it wasn't. In some way, Venus knew it wasn't, but part of her was hopeful to have something she could care about in this world. Something to fill up the fact that she has such difficulty caring about herself. And a kiss would have solidified it.

Flushing in return, he blinks, casting his gaze downward to the leather bound books covering his ridiculous throne, then away toward the rest of the party. He's desperately trying to look anywhere but at her.

"I have given you the wrong impression, I think." And again, the words seem inadequate. How had he gone so wrong? What was it about this situation he hadn't anticipated, couldn't understand? Enjolras felt capable of many things, competent in communicating complicated political and philosophical ideas. What was it about women that was so incomprehensible to him?

"I consider you to be a friend, Venus. As dear to me as anyone else in this world, but I--" This was the delicate part. How many times had he offended some poor girl before? The difference was that they had been silly grisettes who moved from him onto another of his friends when his interests had laid elsewhere. This girl is a friend, and moreover, someone he had no hope of simply avoiding. "I am not looking for a wife."

There. That would put an end to this.

Venus isn't really used to being on the receiving end of these conversations. This is what she usually tells other people, although she doesn't call them dear, she doesn't leave them with something to warm them at night.

"A...wife?"

Venus is aware that Enjolras comes from a different time. How far apart they are is suddenly so much more clear it's as if it's a canyon opening up under her feet. Her thoughts fall and scatter. Before his antiquated nature was kind of charming in how it made him an outsider, but now it sows doubt in her mind.

"This isn't a race thing, is it?"

Edited 2013-12-22 04:59 (UTC)

The implication doesn't escape him, and he feels a pang of purely egalitarian indignation both for himself and on her behalf. Again, however, the proper phrasing escapes him. It seems she has a habit of depriving him of his fluency.

"No," he eventually says, settling for a strict denial. It's more complicated than that, of course, and if he ever had even considered looking for a wife, it wouldn't have been a race-thing as she said, because someone of her race wouldn't have even been an option to him. Truly, they were from different worlds. It's difficult to imagine them ever seeing entirely eye to eye or being able to communicated without these terrible misunderstandings. "I simply have no interest in romance and should not like you to believe otherwise."

Abruptly, he remembers that he's still holding her arm and pulls away. The movement is quick and skittish and reflects his uncertainty in this particular situation.

It would be easier to believe if he didn't yank his hand away as if she were suddenly radioactive. She wonders if, had she her old body back, she would explode right now, but honestly she suspects that she'd be more likely to dissipate. Deflate. Leave an empty suit on the ground.

Which, she supposes, is not terribly far off from what she's worth. She's livid at herself, deep down, for allowing this rebuff to stir up insecurities that she's been so fastidiously keeping under wraps. It hurts to not be valued for the one thing people have always wanted her for. It leaves her wondering if there's anything else worth wanting her around for at all.

"Right." She takes a deep breath and straightens her back. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind if I get any more uppity ideas in mind."

She catches herself and sighs. "Sorry. That was uncalled-for."

Edited 2013-12-22 05:31 (UTC)

He stops himself from flinching at the comment, but only just. It wasn't his intention to offend her, but rather to clarify their situation. Until that was done to a satisfactory degree, there would be no hope for them.

"We can remain friends, of course." It isn't phrased as a question, but it's one all the same. This would be a difficult thing to move passed, of course, but he doesn't want to lose her either. Enjolras is again reminded that Venus would be unavoidable to him, whatever she decided. There is also the added element of her well-being now becoming, more or less, his responsibility. If anything, that confirms his position. He doesn't feel for her in the way that she wants, but even if he did it would be improper. And not improper in the foolish way of her clothing, but rather improper as in unethical. Surely she would understand that.

"I do not want us to go for weeks without speaking again. But Venus, you must understand. Even if I did wish to pursue you, it would be impossible." He tugs the crown of laurels out of his hair with a mild resignation. "I have a responsibility toward you and toward every other Tribute representing District 5 and it would be unethical of me to prioritize you, or to in some way impose myself onto you. It is simply impossible."

And there it was in pure logic. It would hurt in that way that he couldn't truly comprehend, but that would be the end of it. They could more forward now as friends, or possibly even as comrades and one day, they would look back on this episode and smile at the ridiculousness of it all.

She lets his words fall around her like snow, and she hesitates to disturb their pattern. It's all she can do not to get lost in herself, and the logic he offers gives her no purchase in pulling herself out of it.

"You know, you can't blame just me for going weeks without talking. You could have broken the ice at any time. I was trying to get your attention with those books." She sounds bitter, and to an extent she is - her horizons may have been broadened but she probably would have enjoyed that time watching soaps just as much. She wouldn't have gotten her hopes up about being treated as an equal. "So don't try to lay the blame on me for that one."

She's not going to storm off now. Instead, when her eyes start to sting, she wipes them with her fingers, careful not to smudge her makeup.

He reaches beneath his jacket into the fob pocket of his waistcoat. He'd always kept a small cloth there in Paris, and it seems the Capitol has anticipated even that habit, along with his color preferences. He offers the handkerchief to her wordlessly, mulling over a response. She's right, it isn't exclusively her fault that they hadn't spoken for so long. He'd had it within his power to fix whatever was amiss between them. Still, it's far easier to cast her as the villain than confront whatever it is within himself that's keeping them at odds.

"I did not think you wanted me to speak to you." What is it about this woman that makes him so ineloquent? It's unsettling and frustrating, and he longs for something that simply makes sense. Then something she said hit hims and he turns back to her with an expression not unlike the one he'd worn just after their kiss. "Were you truly reading all of that to attract my attention? That is rather elaborate, Venus."

"I wonder how you came to that conclusion." For someone who prides his logical skill, Venus can't help but think Enjolras is having a bit of trouble connecting stars in their bizarre constellation right now. "Who else would I be reading that for? I wasn't exactly trying to get the Initiate's attention. If I wanted his I'd read like, I don't know, How to Paint Cats or something."

She pouts, but her lip soon relaxes. She feels defeated, in a way, as if she's been stepped on and scraped off. She feels as if she should have seen this all coming.

She swallows and it hurts. "Anyway. I guess you're right, about being a Victor." She doesn't believe it, but agreeing is a smoother way to end the conversation.

Edited 2013-12-26 01:23 (UTC)

"I am?" It's an unexpected turn to their conversation. Frankly, he's more accustomed to them disagreeing than agreeing at this point. There's a certain syncopation to their particular rhythm and every time he thinks he understands the way in which they are out of step, she changes things up on him. Strangely, he's less frustrated by that than by his own inability to respond intelligently to it.

"I am curious to know just what conclusion you have arrived at, of course, but first you must tell me-- Does Initiate truly paint cats, and if so, why have we not stopped him?" He's half-joking, of course, but the trolls are very odd and sometimes between their grey skin and demonic horns, they do frighten him on a very basic level. Staring down the grapeshot of the National Guard was nothing compared to watching one of those creatures eat breakfast.

She shrugs, conceding the argument without bothering to actually acknowledge all the ways she doesn't buy it.

"I don't know. I bet he probably does paint cats. I just haven't been able to catch him in the act for a dramatic reveal," Venus says, hopping on the excuse to run far and fast away from their awkward not-romance. She can lick her wounds in private. She isn't really the type to hold a grudge for long, even if Enjolras tempts her so.

She reaches back over and gives his hand a squeeze, as if to say yes, she's hurt that something she thought existed was different than what she anticipated - but that she'll still be here through his difficult transition from participant to advisor.

He smiles up at her in return as he feels the press and release over his knuckles. It seemed as if just like that everything would be as it had been with them with little memory for their ill-fated kiss. Modern women are truly a remarkable thing, he thinks distantly before willing it all to slip away.

"I never liked cats, but I must say that it still seems cruel." There are painted dogs around the Capitol in every color, but somehow with a cat it seems less natural to him. Maybe it's that they seemed to value their freedom more. "Sometimes I think that I will never understand the people with live with, we're all so different. Do you ever think that?"

She lets go and her fingernails, painted gold, fall with her hand like autumn leaves.

"I think if I ever understood the people I lived with, I'd be really disappointed. I'd rather just not know and think the best of everyone." Or, she concedes privately, think what's easiest for her. That people who don't like her are stupid and short-sighted. Better to imagine the world doesn't fear you or see all your vulnerabilities than to remove that benefit of the doubt.

"You going to be okay if I go get some champagne?"

"Yes, I think so." It's disappointing to let her go, but he's not willing to admit that just yet. With another ever so slightly weaker smile, he nods, giving his blessing for Venus to run off to where ever she might feel like going. She, after all, is free to enjoy the party however she might like. She isn't tied to a throne to be ritually ridiculed.

"I feel a touch better now, thanks to you, Venus. Please enjoy yourself."

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The Crowning of Enjolras

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