(no subject)

[etcircenses]

Who| Mentors, stylist, escorts, and anyone else keeping up with tributes in an official aspect.
What| The green room
Where| The tribute training center
When| start of the arena
Warnings/Notes| none inherent, tags thread subjects as needed.

The green room this round has been decorated with the sensibility of what would be, in our era, a turn of the century sitting room. Dark wood paneling, thick rich red velvet furniture, and plush red curtains drawn back over various monitors with heavy gold cords. Although the room is quiet large to contain so many people, it gives the impression of being intimate. The Avoxes, decked out in vaguely militaristic attire, serve food and drink in silver and crystal dishes, gold alcohol catching the light of the stained glass lamps around the room.

In the center of the room is a holographic projection of the arena, highlighting in flickering lights where each tribute is. Panels hidden discretely in the wood paneling can change the view of any of the screens so a mentor or stylist can pull up their own tribute, or one whom they would like to observe.

The projection can easily be shifted, with the flick of a hand, on to the person's own tablet, or even to be projected on one of the sitting tables placed around the room. On their screens other various information can be easily accessed: current odds, gossip, and even communication from potential bidders.

Comments

Eddie, OTA

[wiredup]

The night before the arena was to start, Eddie hadn't slept at all. And it showed. He was slouched down in a chair, flicking through the various cameras mindlessly, keeping the most vague eye on his tributes.

He was really only up right now through a delicate counter balance of a steady stream of extreme caffeine and a few drop of morphling here and there when the caffeine became too extreme. Soon he would tag out with one of the other Mentors, but for now he needed another drink.

Stretching back, he let out a huge yawn, only realizing too late that he had miscalculated, and smashed his hand right into the person standing behind him.

"Hey, sorry man."

[finnickohdear]

Finnick would be fine, but his drink could not say as much. He wiped as much off of himself as he could and shook his head.

"I'll dry out eventually. But if you want I can return the favor."

He was only joking, but a little friendly ribbing never hurt, right?

Effie

[mannersmatter]

It was so nice to not be the one running the whole show this round, and Katniss and Peeta had gotten an ear full, all morning, about how entirely relieved Effie was to not be flying solo. In fact, by this time, they were probably more than a little tired of hearing it.

She was still doing more than was technically an escorts job, but after the last arena, she went back to her niche happily, her nails tapping incessantly over her tablet, keeping herself aware of everything while those two watched the actual arena.

"I'll go get us some snacks!" She chirped, smiling wide, before bustling over to the buffet table before hearing a reply. The avoxes could easily be summoned, but right now there wasn't much going on, and Effie wanted to stretch her legs, and see what was going on with the other teams. Piling up a plate with fruits and pastries, she started to move around the room, doing a social round.

[orestes]

If he were more honest with himself of late, Enjolras would admit that he was hiding. As it was, he was not hiding, he was distracting himself at an event which he very much did not wish to attend in the first place. His typical look of disdain and indignation for all things Capitol had shifted, however, and was replaced by a frown resembling reproachful boredom.

He busied himself arranging h'orderves on a plate he knew he wouldn't touch, the brilliant colors of the too fresh food of the Capitol reflecting tauntingly against the transparency of the small crystal. So preoccupied was he in ignoring the world around him (and, most particularly, the screen at the center of the room) that he almost crashed should-long into Effie as she flitted lightly around the table. At least he had the presence of mind to appear contrite. "Please excuse me, madame, my head is no where today."

Katniss

[inciting]

Later that day, Katniss stood, needing to stretch. Right now, things looked as mellow as they could, and she knew Peeta would call if anything was happening. If the screens didn't clue her off first.

Picking up a glass of water, she leaned against one of the rails, looking at the ghostly projection of the building. What an awful arena to be suck in. At least her's had been familiar. Watching the little pin points of light that were the Tributes, she shook her head softly.

This arena was going to be rough.

[finnickohdear]

"They have it rough this time, don't they?"

Finnick parked himself not too far away, still staring in at the virtual representation of the arena.

"Not that it's ever easy. So of us just make it look that way." He meant Katniss more than himself, but if she wanted to take it as a brag he wouldn't argue.

Re: Katniss

[nooneleft]

Johanna had been watching Katniss with a smirk for quite a while before she approached. Katniss, the girl on fire. Girl who stole her spotlight, more like. She resented Katniss for that. She resented Katniss for how well she seemed to be adjusting to this mentor thing, how she seemed to actually care about the Tributes - like she expected any of them even stood a chance. Privately, Johanna thought they'd all be better off dead than living this life. But then, who listened to Johanna any more now that Katniss had catapulted to fame with acts even more daring and appealing than Johanna's?

After a while, she sauntered over. "I thought you'd have better things to do than watch the arenas, girl-on-fire. No more press dates?" She grinned sarcastically at Katniss and held out a hand.

"I trust you know who I am."

Azula

[burnedbrighter]

It's good to be home.

She should have felt that way back in district five, but the truth of the matter was she simply did not feel comfortable among all the people who knew her since she was young.

She could still feel the disappointment in their stares. They wished that the other tribute from their district had won. Some even wished that another district had won rather then the murderous two timing back stabbing daughter of a businessmen.

And so she lounged idly picking over a bowl of fruit and watching the events unfold. A few notes on her tablet to send extra food to Shepherd and Diana, one for working hard and one for being Azula's personal pet project.

With a sigh she glanced around the room feeling cozy and relaxed. If she wasn't so thrilled with the prospect of this new arena she might have taken a nap instead.

But no, tonight was about a potential new winner. As Venus smashed a vial of neurotoxin into the face of fan favorite Harley Quinn Azula smiled wickedly. She'd have to keep an eye on that one as well.

Re: Azula

[stilest]

"It would be nice if Venus wins," Claudia says, watching the screen with her. "He's even mopier than usual with her in the arena and him out of it." She doesn't thinks she has to specify who she means by "he." It's perfectly obvious. "And it would look really great for the District if we got two in a row. We could be the new Careers."

Kevin | OTA

[fire_punk]

Kevin watched his tablet closely. Sherlock had been right. Up till now, he'd been useless as a mentor. That was anything but okay. He might still be trying to figure out how to deal with sponsors but he could at least keep track of what his tributes needed. He winced when he saw Sherlock get injured. It was too early for that. Way too early for that.

Finnick OTA

[finnickohdear]

Finnick is watching the Arena as a whole, not lingering on any one tribute too long. He seems a little nervous, walking from one side of the room to the other. He's trying to distract himself more by talking to some of the other mentors.

"This is going to be a long Arena."

[president_evil]

By the time the man had brushed by him for the third time, Wesker had quite enough of Finnick's fidgeting. Like the neurotic energy of a Jack-Russell chasing it's own tail, it set his teeth on edge.

"If you believe that, I'd advise you endeavor to find a more productive way of spending it. Or, failing that, find somewhere else to pass the time."

[void_whereprohibited]

Cecil is watching the Games at the same birds'-eye view that Finnick is; it's his personal policy not to start choosing favorites until the second day, by which time things are usually a little more certain. There are a lot of Tributes these days, after all, and less time to waste on the doomed.

He turns from his monitor when Finnick walks by-- the quiet moments following the Cornucopia are beginning, and he is just full of feelings about it. Feelings that he has no interest whatsoever in containing.

"I know!" he says brightly. Cecil doesn't seem at all unhappy about this. Quite the contrary. "I mean, that Cornucopia, right? No weapons left at all this time-- I bet we'll start seeing some fascinating ambushes starting, oh, tomorrow?" He's clearly expecting agreement on this front.

Re: Finnick OTA

[nooneleft]

"More time without them bothering us..." Johanna grins at her awkward humour, and plops down on the arm of Finnick's chair.

"Haven't you missed the damn glory of the Capitol?" She sipped her glass of sickly sweet wine. "Better than that damn district of mine. You know they dragged me - two days on that damn train to get here, and then sent me packing two days later for another forty eight hours on that damn train. And with Penny as well. PENNY! I am telling you, if they let me have an axe around here, her head would be split straight down the middle."

[fire_punk]

"Not longer than the others." They all seemed about the same to him: too long, too many people dying, and not enough he could do about any of it.

[thatwasme]

Barbara tipped her tumbler of water to Finnick, lips pulling up into a lopsided smile. "Is that better or worse for us or for them?" She lets the question sound playful, though with her eyes being pulled back toward the center of the room, it might not be as much of a joke as it seemed. There's no clear divide anymore, not between what it meant to be alive, or to die, or what it once meant to survive the Games and be called a Victor when you were usually little more than the survivor who held on the longest.

She supposes Survival Games doesn't have quite the same contrasting flavor as Hunger Games. Particularly not for the voyeurs, or the ones forced to watch them. "You see less and less of them in the Districts these days."

[akingalways]

Finnick wasn't the only good-looking blond pacing around, looking nervously at the screens. None of his Tributes had gone down...yet.

At Finnick's words, however, Jack turned and gave a start.

"...When the hell did you get here?"

Re: Finnick OTA

[stilest]

Claudia isn't a mentor, of course. She's a stylist. But she's there in the green room anyway, dressed in pjs and avidly watching her district's tributes.

"I don't know," she says. "They seem pretty good at timing these large-scale ones so they all come out the same."

Cecil, OTA

[void_whereprohibited]

For the first hour or so of the Arena, Cecil doesn't look away from the Cornucopia. Some have called it wasteful, but he disagrees-- while hardly his favorite part of the Arena, it is the necessary all-at-once emotional rush that acts as counterpoint to the more sporadic, less predictable high points of the later days. Without the Cornucopia, every death that came after would feel much the same; the odds to overcome would be smaller; the thrill and the disappointment of seeing favorites rise or fall would be lessened. He is, of course, disappointed about some of the preliminary deaths, but, well-- there are plenty of doomed fish left in the proverbial sea (...or, well, barrel), right?

When the last Tribute has run or walked or crawled away from the pile of bodies in the parking garage, he flicks the view on his tablet back to the arena-wide view of the hologram and turns with a grin to whoever is sitting nearest. It matters very little to him who it is, or whether they have ever spoken before-- what are the Hunger Games for, if not to bring people together?

"Wow," he says, with profound appreciation. "How about that?"

[orestes]

Enjolras has been laboring under the mistaken impression that after the Arena quiets down, those assembled for the gathering would move on, converse amongst themselves, focus on anything other than the carnage happening around them. He blinks back at Cecil, (who, come to think of it, he has never seen around the Capitol before, despite the familiarity of the man's voice) discomfort and mild confusion evident on his face. "I beg your pardon?"

He knows Cecil means the Cornucopia, but there's still a tiny piece of hope left in him that he's wrong. Maybe this man isn't as bloodthirsty as he seems, maybe it's all for show. Many in the Capitol are very skilled at putting on a face.

[pillowmania]

Growing up, Katurian both hated and loved the Games. They evoked a certain feeling in his chest, warm and uncertain and tight. Sometimes this feeling left him breathless and sent him spiraling into unconsciousness. He would awake in the hallway of his parents' house, his body soaked in sweat, his legs trembling like a car engine. Other times he would hold the feeling close. The adrenaline reminded him of a fair ride. Or a good book.

Little has changed. In the green room, Katurian Katurian bites his nails and compulsively wipes the bangs out of his eyes. He does not look away from the carnage.

That is, until Cecil speaks.

"I like it," he says, although his hesitance is clear. His voice trembles. "I think that it's very clever, setting it in a museum. I've been saying for ages, you know, I've been saying for ages that we need an indoor arena."

Johanna Mason OTA

[nooneleft]

Johanna had stormed into the room, banging the doors loudly to make sure that her entrance was announced. She expected all eyes on her, though she made no effort to talk to anyone herself. She grabbed a glass of wine from the nearest Avox, circled the room once, noting who was there, before actually sitting down. Muttering to herself, she looked at the screens, pulling up each of her tributes. Damn anyone who said Johanna didn't care.

"Those damn Gamemakers get more ridiculous every Arena." She said, quite loudly, and to nobody in particular

[thatwasme]

Barbara had her own tumbler of water well in hand. With the lime on the rim, who knew what she could pass it off as, but water it remained. "I don't know," she said, leaning in to get a look at one of Johanna's tributes. "The whole candy place was pretty off the charts. Museums are a little more down to Earth."

So to speak.

"Makes you wonder if they weren't trying to be big funders for this Arena." There was at least one business she expected to see booming, though it was in the sort of backward, hilarious way that the Capitol often tried to shoot itself in the foot. Get people excited over education. Who knows, maybe a few would think past whatever clean visions of history they were being fed.

She took a sip of her water, looking resolutely pleasant. It wasn't easy. The faces and flashes of action on the center holograph aren't showing anything she enjoyed seeing.

Peeta OTA

[shinyisfalse]

There'd been nothing he could do last arena, obviously, but this one was different. And after having the tributes visit the districts they represented, especially the ones representing 12, he felt a greater need to help them. Since the first day he started mentoring, he always felt like these were his tributes.

And he'd do whatever he could to help them. Peeta knew he couldn't stay here and never go to sleep, but he did spend more time here then he would honestly like to. He was switching between tea, coffee, and hot chocolate, and not as much food.

The only problem he was having was with the controls. It seemed like it should be simple, but they didn't have things like this back home, and he didn't find himself using them that much here.

[thatwasme]

"I think you press that dohickey, then flick the thingamagig to the right to get it to zoom." Barbara found it difficult to stay still, turning a need for movement into a means of engaging people as they moved in and out of the room. She set a plate of various fingerfoods down on the short table by his side. With her hands free, she can repeat the gestures to go along with her not so helpful words like she knew what she was doing.

Barbara found playacting greater ignorance about these systems than she had was it's own game of a sorts. Finding more ridiculous words to use than earlier in a conversation is half the fun. "What are you trying to make it do?"

[stilest]

Claudia's in silk pajamas and she's got a large pile of candy in front of her, which she absent-mindedly nibbles from as she keeps switching back and forth on her tablet between the various District Five tributes.

If you sit down next to her, she'll probably shove some of that candy at you.

[thatwasme]

Barbara looks down at the candy being shoved her way, setting her tumbler half-full with water on one knee. "What is it?" seems like the obvious question, but Barbara tends to ask the obvious questions. Particularly around faces she doesn't place immediately.

chris & champion, so OT it's A

[quiteliterally]

Chris is practically vibrating from his perch on the couch, Champion the three-legged pitbull leaning against his leg while he scratches behind his collar. The dog is making soft, contented grunting noises, but his human doesn't seem to notice, too engrossed in the action.

"Oh, he's great. And him. And her! And him. They're all great, but especially her. Though, not as much as him..." He's flicking through his little tablet as each tribute appears, but who can he decide who to go for when they're all so amazing? "This is literally the best arena I have ever seen."

There's a long pause, but then: "Just like every other arena."

[thatwasme]

"If it's like every other arena, how can any one arena ever really be the best?" Barbara addresses her question to Champion more than Chris, holding a half full tumbler of water loosely between her fingers. She looks up to Chris a beat after she speaks, offering him a smile once she makes something passingly close to eye contact.

"Who's this handsome young fellow?"

Three legged pitbulls were entirely handsome. Ask anyone.