thecapitol | (no subject)

Who| Everyone, pretty much. Particularly Secret Santa people and those Creuntus is fucking with.
What| Holiday times!
Where| The Tribute Training center
When| The whole week, but Creuntus' gifts arrive today.
Warnings/Notes| none atm. Please add any in thread headers. Also, for secret santa, if you are the giver start a thread with your giftee's name (unless you two have worked something else out between you). You can use the District threads below, or choose a different setting of your own.

Every floor public space is dripping with holiday decorations.

The decorations are themed, ridiculously so. Every surface is covered, and a table sits proudly full of holiday treats and spirits, kept stocked constantly by the avoxes. Cheerful music plays softly throughout the whole building, though luckily for everyone the Capitol doesn't really know what Christmas carols are.

Those with secret santa's have a cheery, passive-aggressive note reminding them not to disappoint anyone and ruin their holiday.

Those that have expressed a want for some object from home will find a box on their bed sometime during the day, with a merry holiday greeting from Cruentus. Inside they will find the object of their desire, or something similar, crafted from their words.

In blown glass. Pretty, decorative, utterly useless.

Bert's guns, Punchy's goggles, Sigma's music box, Maximus' leg, Mindy's knife, Terezi's dragon cane...on and on, as many gifts as Creuntus could find out. Those that were with them when they were pulled are more perfect replicas, those that they have just described obviously have an artistic touch to them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Cuthbert wasn't listening to anything but the high whine of panic in his own mind. The guns were surprisingly well crafted for fakes and he hated them all the more for it. He bent down carefully and picked up one of the larger shards so he could crush it in his own hands, utterly ignoring the pain and blood that brought on.

But as soon as Maximus asked for his arm he held it out obediently, like he was as docile and calm as a child. His eyes never left the mess of shining fragments he had left on the floor.

"They know exactly what they're doing to us." Whether he said that for his own sake or for Max's wasn't clear.

"Of course they do." Maximus said firmly as he took Cuthbert's arm, forcing him to release the shards. He carefully began removing the largest pieces of glass. The little ones would have to wait until the avox returned - though the blood was already starting to run.

"They mean to break us. What other sport is there?"

As they worked on his arm, Cuthbert started to tremble, almost like he was starting to go into shock. But it was probably still the last of his adrenaline fueled rage.

"I... I lost my guns. And they would rather mock me with them than just leave me to stew in it."

Those guns meant the world to him and he had been trying to put it out of his mind for months that they were in the Capitol's hands.

Maximus got the last large piece out just as the Avox came to his side, holding out tweezers with bandages under his arm. Maximus took them and started removing the rest of the tiny shards without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Cuthbert, it is their every intention to use everything that you care about against you. If you allow them to break you, they will only see that as a challenge, again and again." He paused, and raised his eyes to meet Cuthbert's. He didn't really know if guns were the same as swords, but he could guess - between Cuthbert and Wyatt - that they were. That the items themselves had honour, and that losing them was a massive blow. "You will regain your honour. But until then you must not let them win."

There was something mildly reassuring about having someone else dress a wound for him. Normally this was something he had to do himself. Or ignore, if he was in the middle of a fight.

"What am I supposed to do, then? Those guns, they were my father's. I cannot blame the powers that be for taking them from me, I could ruin them with but one of those guns and a hand full of bullets. But how can I possibly stand by and call myself a man without them? When some other holds them, or worse, uses them?"

He was starting to sound more and more like a boy his true age, younger than he should be and scared. He hadn't had proof of anyone fussing with his guns before. But the detail on his "present" seemed too good to be done with anything but the real thing in front of the artist.