thecapitol | (no subject)

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(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

He spent time with Howard, the hours slipping by easily as he'd sat with him. Laughed. Enjoyed himself and the company. Warmed by Howard's delight in his gift, though he'd tried to keep just how much it meant to him - watching Howard immediately put it on - to himself, he hadn't been able to hide it all. His smile too wide, the light in his eyes too bright.

But eventually he realized the day was getting wane, and he had to go. He still had another gift to give, someone else he wanted to see.

Excusing himself, he slipped on his repaired coat, warm and familiar, and climbed back into the elevator. Heading down to the common area.

He'd asked Max to meet him here, rather than on either of their floors - as nice as that could be - as Max's gift wasn't actually located at the Tower.

...And with the way Max had gone quiet over the past few weeks, a change of scenery might be better for them both anyway.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, that day. Wyatt had told him about the festival, and Maximus had thought he would be seeing more of him, somehow. When word came that Wyatt had asked to see him down in the common room a tiny knot in his chest released, but he was still off-center.

He took the box with Wyatt's gift inside (the one that had sparked an enormous fight between himself and his escort, though he'd finally won) and waited down by the tree, frowning to himself as he turned the box over in his hands. He hoped it would suit. He had decided that Christmas was basically the future's version of Saturnalia, and blades were common presents then, but it had been a struggle to recieve permission to give Wyatt a knife. As it was, the blade was small and delicate - good for wood but it would only make a shallow wound if it was used on a man, and the blade would probably snap against bone.

Really, it was a poor excuse for a knife, and he was unhappy with it.

But he kept his unhappiness to himself as he waited.

Max was alone for long, Wyatt a punctual man by nature - a man who kept his promises, however small.

The elevator breezed open, releasing a gentle cloud of pine scent (Howard's candles clinging to his skin, his clothes), a step before the man. He lingered there for a moment, eyes scanning the diminished crowd... and then smiled. That warm expression not content with taking his mouth and so seeped up cheeks into his eyes.

"Happy Christmas, Max." He reached out to him as he drew close because he had to, but settled for an embrace. A clap on the back, a squeeze of the shoulder.

Edited 2013-12-24 15:38 (UTC)

"Happy Christmas, Wyatt," Maximus murmured, unable to stop the fond smile rising to his lips at the sight of Wyatt's own. He returned the embrace and then held out the present. The store had wrapped it for him, thankfully, in a deep rich brown with golden ribbon.

"I hope this suits."

Pulling back, he looked down at the gift, caught a bit by surprise even though they'd joked about it. (Touched, that Max would bother himself with a holiday not his own, for him.)

"It'll do more than suit, I'm sure," he said, a sudden huskiness to his voice that he tried to hide with a low clearing of his throat as he took the box.

He reached for the bow, then paused, looking back at Max.

"Should I wait? I don't have yers with me, but it ain't far, we could do it together."

"You don't need to wait," Maximus said, smiling warmly, already feeling better now that Wyatt was with him.

He gestured to the box. "Go on, open it. If I've missed the point maybe then I'll still have time to make it up."

He hesitated a beat longer, as if Max might chance his mind, then gave one of the elegant loops a small tug, pulling the ribbon free. Tucking the shimmering gold into his pocket (for lack of anywhere else to put it), his fingers ran over the paper, seeking a seam and then ripping - the sound surprisingly loud in the otherwise quiet of the lobby.

Folding the paper back, he tucked the box against his chest and worked up the lid -- revealing the knife, glittering on a soft bed of tissue within.

For a moment, he did nothing, just stared down at it. Knowing instantly, from the size and shape of the blade, what Max had meant it for.

This was not a knife for killing. This one was for work.

His work.

"Max..." he swallowed thickly, uncertain he even had the words.

They weren't allowed blades, technically speaking, so he'd taken one from their kitchen, and eventually his escort had stopped trying to take it from him - seeing he meant no harm with it - but it had been too large, too unwieldy for the task he wanted it for, and he couldn't replace it with something more appropriate. However much his escort trusted him, it was still against the rules.

He could only imagine what Max had done to get this to him.

His head bobbed, he swallowed again, and met Max's gaze.

"Max, thank you."

The dark shadows at the corners of his mind were chased away by the slowly growing smile as he watched Wyatt open it. He put a hand out, clasping Wyatt's shoulder and giving a good, firm, friendly, shake.

"You are very, very welcome," Maximus said, and meant it. "Knives were a common gift for Saturnalia, which I suppose is the closest festival I know to your Christmas. Though there were a good deal more candles, and much more wine."

"Not to late for that," he coughed, turning a smile on Max's, reaching out to pat his side gently, fingers curling in the fabric of the royal looking regalia - just for a moment, before letting go again. "Remind me, when we get back, an' we'll make sure to celebrate the right way."

Slipping the lid back onto the box, he folded the paper back over it and tucked both into the deep pocket of his coat.

"But first..."

His smile widened and he took a step back, nodding his head across the lobby toward the front doors.

"Ya up for a walk?"

Maximus chuckled lowly, looking forward to 'the right way', but at the question of a walk he arched an eyebrow. Wyatt had said his present 'wasn't far', after all.

"Of course," He said, smiling. He would have agreed, present or no. He drew the dark fur cape tighter around his shoulder. "I am not troubled by a little cold."

"Jus' a little," Wyatt promised, turning to head across the lobby, leading the way through the doors and out into the evening cold. "An' it'll be worth it."

He hoped.

In the face of Max's gift, he could admit a little worry - to himself if not aloud.

It was snowing outside, light drifting flakes that dotted the brim of his hat and dusted across his shoulders. The streets were quiet, nearly empty as they headed away from the Tower.

Maximus was content to walk beside Wyatt in silence, and for once, in the capitol, it was nearly silent - the snow helping to dull any far off sounds and the streets so barren. He carefully kept his hands to himself lest they start wandering in Wyatt's direction again, and he mused thoughtfully to himself over just what the man was giving him, to require this journey.

He didn't care break the silence, however, content to listen to the gentle pad and crinkle of their feet against newly fallen snow, and the steady beat of his blood in his veins.

As Wyatt had promised, it really wasn't far, the Capitol perhaps seeing the wisdom in keeping them close at hand as often as they were used.

After a few blocks, Wyatt slowed, and began to lead them down an avenue toward a grand building. A big place, amidst a field of what would be green, if it weren't currently hidden beneath the snow. Just visible behind one distant corner was a white wooden fence stretching off along the property.

"Inside," he told Max, looking over at the man with a small, mischievous grin.

Maximus arched an eyebrow, having never been to this place before and having not given it any thought what-so-ever in passing.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Maximus asked as he pushed open the doors and stepped inside. "Or am I just going to have to see for myself?"

Wyatt tsked, tongue clucking softly.

"An' spoil the surprise when yer nearly there?" he asked, following him inside, knocking his boots against the jam to shake off the worst of the snow. "What's the fun in that?"

Inside, the entrance was small, a desk, a few chairs - this was was a place of business first, rarely seen by anyone but those whose services were required. One of the many unseen hands that greased the wheels of the Capitol's great machine.

In the air was a faint, sweet smell, grain and hay. Somewhere behind one of the doors off to the side was a muffled sound, a soft whinny.

Behind the desk, a bored looking man eyed them as they entered, narrowing his eyes at Max and then blowing out a breath as Wyatt appeared behind him.

Apparently he'd been waiting for their arrival.

"About time, clock's ticking, you know."

Maximus knew that sound.

He knew it as well as he knew the sound of his own voice. His head turned sharply towards the sound but he saw nothing but the dreary hall and the sturdy doors. Even if he swore he could smell...

"Is this a stable?" He asked, incredulously.

Before Wyatt could answer, the man was speaking up again.

"Through the door, straight down to number 8, gear's all there. Ring's at the end of the hall on the left."

He tapped a box on the desktop and the time appeared, floating in the air in cool green numbers.

"Two hours, then it needs to be back where you found it."

Wyatt lifted a hand, nodding in understanding, and moved toward the door, pulling it open and gesturing for Max to move through to the stable first.

"After you, Max," he offered with a smile.

It didn't look anything like any stable he'd ever known but he wasn't about to complain - giving Wyatt a slightly questioning look before following the directions through the doors.

It was a stable - a large stable - where they kept all the horses for the tribute parades... He drew in a breath and made straight for number eight, where a large, sturdy horse stood, snorting gently. It was a rich, deep brown - nearly black - and Maximus stepped up to the beast, sure and careful, and reached out to stroke its nose.

Wyatt slowed, smiling to himself, as he led Max take the lead.

The idea had come to him from a number of places: Ellie, lamenting that the horses at the zoo weren't rideable; Max himself, asking for a quiet afternoon; and Wyatt's escort, pulling the strings after Wyatt had gone to him, asking after stables in the City.

An odd request, for sure, and it had cost him a promise to attend the birthday party for the son of the man they'd just met. Apparently the boy was quite the fan.

Wyatt would hate every minute of it, but to be able to give this gift to Max, entirely worth it.

"I know it ain't an afternoon," he mused, coming up beside Max at the stall door. "But for the next two hours, he's all yers. Merry Christmas, Max."

A few steps away, a saddle sat on the back of a saddle-horse. On the wall a bridle hung from a shining metal hook. On the next hook was a bag, brushes and combs and a shoepick.

Ready and waiting.

Maximus smiled warmly, obviously pleased and not trying to hide it.

"Thank you, Wyatt," he said, utterly earnest, as he turned from the horse. He glanced down through the stable, but they were alone. Or, as alone as they could get, here in the capitol. So he didn't keep himself from expressing just how much the gift meant to him.

Placing a hand on either of Wyatt's shoulders, he drew him into a deep kiss.

"Are you to ride with me?" He murmured lowly.

He lingered for as long as he dared, happy to pretend just a moment that it was just them, that there wasn't another world waiting for them just outside the doors, then, touching his forehead to Max's, he leaned back.

"There's nobody else I'd rather ride with," Wyatt told him, reaching up to rub his rough fingers along the vee of short hair at the back of Max's neck. He grinned, wide and fond. "Now go on, two hours are all ya got an' they'll be gone before ya know it."

Maximus smiled back but was keen not to waste the precious gift.

A lifetime in the army and as a calvary man was made very apparent as he brushed the horse down and prepared for the ride. He was efficient but thorough, and murmured to the creature in a low voice - inaudible, and in Latin. He threw the blanket carefully over it's back, saw to the reins with detailed attention. When he turned to the saddle, however, he paused - fingers lingering over the stirrups with a slightly confused look.

"What are these?" He asked, looking back at Wyatt, for stirrups had yet to be invented.

Wyatt was content to watch, leaning against the outside of the stall, giving Max his time and space, a fond, distant smile on his face as the man worked. Pleased, in every sense of the word.

It wasn't until Max spoke to him that he did, pushing off the wood to join him in the stall.

"Stirrups," he said, reaching out, fingers brushing Max's as he rubbed the leather ring between his fore-finger and thumb. "Ya put yer boots in here, helps with the mount, an' the ride. It keeps ya stable an' it's easier to control the animal."

Letting go of the stirrup, he reached past Max to check the cinch, making sure it was firm under the animal's barrel. Then he stepped back, nodding for Max to climb on.

"Mount up, an' I'll show ya."

"I think I can manage," Maximus mused, looking a little incredulous at their necessity, but he let Wyatt check over the saddle before he did as asked and mounted the horse with one fluid, well-practiced movement. His feet found the stirrups, easy enough, and he was vaguely surprised at how natural the placement was.

He didn't need them, of course, but it was interesting that they'd been developed between his time and Wyatt.

He leaned down, grazing a rough palm over the the horse's thick neck, and breathed in deeply as he smiled.

"He is a beautiful creature, Wyatt." He leaned over and held out an arm. "Join me?"

He checked the stirrups, making sure Max was set properly, before looking up. Taking Max's arm and swinging up behind him, the horse's wide rump providing seat enough.

"Down the hall," he murmured, a soft rumbling reminder from behind Max's ear as a hand found his hip. "On the left."