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

What a lovely little note they had all been slipped. 'Don't disappoint', it said in different words, and Hawkeye tore it up. Escorts had fluttered around him all day and the days before- what do you have, what do you have, they'd ask, and Hawkeye would grin and say either that it was a surprise or that it would come from the heart, not from a box, and once he was honest and said he didn't have the slightest, damnedest clue of what to give Maximus for a gift. He got suggestions then, and Escorts even insisted and half-way begged for him to let them pick something out. Hawkeye only laughed and waved a hand and had reassured them that he'd find something.

Only the day had come now, and he didn't have a damned clue what to give the general.

What do you give someone you're scared of, but think you have no choice but to respect? What do you give someone you owe thanks to? He had been a puppy to Wyatt. Latched onto the man any time he'd catch sight of him- and Hawkeye wasn't sure what good that had done. What do you give a killer who didn't kill you? The note slipped to him made him whine. He decided to brainstorm one last time, and he sucked in a breath and got in the blasted elevator and stepped out when he had reached the commons. He loved the snow, and today he hated to admit it so he slapped on an obnoxious smile and wondered about making a snow angel. Gee, how long since he'd done that? There were other Tributes about, scrambling, playing the game Hawkeye was behind in. He peered this way and that- and didn't see a woman he'd rather avoid, so he hop-skipped over to one fellow, alone, with a blue and white package in hand. He didn't seem very entertaining to him, Hawkeye had figured, and so he better help.

"Evenin', sir- need help crossing the road? I'm trying to earn my Helpfulness badge. Let me help you with your package-" and he makes a grab at it, watching to see if the stranger plays along. Heavy package, he thinks. He wants to rattle it. "What the hell's in here?" He asks, curiosity peaking. He was desperate for ideas, by God.

Julian hardly stops him--he'd seen what his elusive Secret Santa recipient looked like, and he recognized the man well enough.

"Very helpful indeed, now I don't have to go about looking for you. Merry Christmas, I suppose, now you can open it and see for yourself. It is for you, after all."

Julian just smiles and takes a drink of his coffee.

Understanding hits him with the first words- Hawkeye finds the grin dissolves and then repair itself into something bordering on genuine. The laughter isn't forced in the least- what were the odds he'd bump into his gifter this way? What luck! He hugs the present closer to his chest by instinct, looking so much like a child. Mine, mine, mine, he wanted to growl- he would if he were back in Korea. Fighting like dogs over scraps when a package came for anyone at all, it was a game. Fun and stupid and mental. Instead of barking and growling, he keeps asking, "Well, what is it? What'd you get me, huh? Huh? Huh? What'd you get me?" Like a boy badgering his godfather.

He lets out a frustrated little groan, and makes a beeline for somewhere, a table where he could set the package down. And he tears into it with a determination he didn't know he could muster still, excited despite himself because the fellow seemed decent enough to handle it.

"Darling!" He cries, finding a bottle, the wrapping paper littered all over. "You shouldn't have!" Rest in peace, his liver and wit. Both of which were useless in warfare. "Reckless, you know. You didn't even ask my age. I could be a minor, for all you know- I'm not giving it back, though, forget it! This is mine, fella."

"Well, pardon my presumption, but we do appear to be about the same age. Physically, at least. I don't know you well enough to make an argument for mentally." He figured with the attitude Hawkeye had thus far displayed, he could get away with a bit of teasing, hoping that his history of being almost completely inept at social interaction wasn't going to rise up and bite him again.

"I wouldn't normally advocate honoring a death by drinking to forget it, as a doctor it seems largely unprofessional. But these are extenuating circumstances."

Oh, well, when put like that, it sounded like he should be offended. So Hawkeye straightens his back and pulls a respectable air and puts both hands on the sacred bottle and shoots back, "I'm clearly the most mature."

He starts unwrapping the tumblers- two, huh? It was almost like his friend was trying to tell him something, and then Hawkeye realized he didn't know the bugger's name. He wondered how long he put off his ignorance- stacking a game on top of the one he already had in sight. He sits on a decorated couch and taps at the bottle of whiskey, his attention on it entirely. Whiskey was a treat. Only sometimes would the Colonel share his stash. He's pleasantly distracted when he waves a dismissing hand. "Who's death?" Because this was a game he had Julian beat at, too. And wasn't it stupid to bring together so many doctors to a place like this? Hawkeye supposed not, uncapping the liquor and leaning over to whiff, leaning back in the couch to sigh with delirious content.

It was good. It was good and he could have sold it back at the MASH for eighty dollars. He supposed it wasn't a bad idea to gather people who's purpose was to preserve the life the Capitol was hellbent on wasting, if they acted like this all the time.

He motions for Julian to join him, and begins to pour the drinks. "A fine prescription, Doctor. As a doctor, I approve."

"Well then, I'm doubly unconcerned." Julian smiles and joins him.

He hadn't intended his gift to send any kind of message--the glasses had come in sets of two, nothing more. As if the Capitol was telling everyone that it was pathetic to drink alone. "I'm sure we can think of someone. Or a happier reason to drink."

At the revelation of Hawkeye's profession, Julian scoffed. "At this rate we'll overrun the place." Made at least three, that he knew of.

As he very well should be. Hawkeye snorts and grins, and passes Julian's glass to him. So he had come down to the lounge to brainstorm and what better way to get started than by warming the noggin? "Let's drink to our healthy population," he says and raises the drink. Healthy, here, being nearly entirely ironic though his voice is as cheery and anxious to taste than ever. Overrun the place? Them? The handful of men who did nothing? He takes the liberty to touches glasses, whether Julian raises his own in the short time he'd left or not.

"Let us never dawdle and dwindle." And it almost sounded fucking poetic, so Hawkeye was proud of himself for that.

He grins again, he waggles his brows, he takes a swig and coughs-- because it was cold in the commons, that's why. "I built a still," he starts, then pauses to add hand movements. Seemed like a decent guy, his Secret Santa. "Well, not me alone. I had some help. But uh, we have a gin mill in our tent." Had, he thinks, because he's not there and wow. He wonders how his replacement took to it. "Homemade stuff. Finest kind. But this-" because he had to come to the point eventually, and he was expected to thank the stranger for the poison, he figured. "This is, uh. Good. Thanks."