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

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."