Jack Atlas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
akingalways) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-01-31 11:29 pm
akingalways) wrote in thecapitol2014-01-31 11:29 pm
(no subject)
Who| Jack Atlas and OPEN
What| The Director of District 8 Commodity Control is throwing a masque in honor of the current Games. Everyone is, of course, encouraged to attend.
Where| Anomaly Restuarant
When| The end of Week 2
Warnings| None at the moment, though this will be updated if anything changes!
When the Director threw a party, everyone knew. Not just because of the fact of who he was, but the fact that he always threw a costume party. Always. And this was no exception. What was different was that it was thrown, not at the mansion, where previous parties had always been, but at a public restaurant. The official reason was that the mansion was undergoing a planned renovation, and it was sadly behind schedule. Of course the party venue was forced to change!
Not that it was a bad thing. The restaurant was appropriately decorated for the Arena-themed party, transformed into a tropical paradise "exhibit" with mechanical parrots flying around, and mosquito nets strewn all over various "wax figures". Or, as those not playing along with the theme would call them, the wait staff, all dressed in various exhibit clothing to reflect those found in the museum. The menu was all over the place, too - everything from "gift shop" chocolate truffles to "space pizza" to "Roosevelar's Bull Moose Rib Rack" could be had. And best of all, no one was complaining. After all, what did a little renovation hurt when the substitute was hardly lacking?
But Jack knew better. The party was supposed to be at the mansion, but that was the only true part of the story. In reality, the graffiti had appeared, mysteriously, all over the Director's gilded ballroom and on the outside walls the day before. Naturally, once the Peacekeepers had moved in to investigate, the matter on the party's location - not to mention its fate - was very quickly settled. Ironic, really, given how the Director had once claimed to Jack that throwing a party at such a place was out of the question.
At least Jack himself was not under suspicion for the crime. This time. But what about next time? They had almost condemned him for an accident; was it really so far of a stretch they could punish him for...nothing at all?
It was a question he'd have to push aside tonight. He was dressed in a leafy green frock coat, wearing a mask inspired by the tribal masks in the Arena. Because, on top of being a costume party, it was also a museum-inspired masque, and Jack was apparently meant to be a bird camouflaged in the jungle - a callback to his time in a more recent Arena as well as a nod to the current. A bird that had to chat up everyone with a smile underneath, in hopes that they would continue to bet on those District 8 Tributes still in the Arena, praying his eyes sparkled and his laugh sounded genuine enough. And - knowing how these parties would go - it would be an all night affair.
Hopefully, they wouldn't run out of Blue Mountain coffee before then.
What| The Director of District 8 Commodity Control is throwing a masque in honor of the current Games. Everyone is, of course, encouraged to attend.
Where| Anomaly Restuarant
When| The end of Week 2
Warnings| None at the moment, though this will be updated if anything changes!
When the Director threw a party, everyone knew. Not just because of the fact of who he was, but the fact that he always threw a costume party. Always. And this was no exception. What was different was that it was thrown, not at the mansion, where previous parties had always been, but at a public restaurant. The official reason was that the mansion was undergoing a planned renovation, and it was sadly behind schedule. Of course the party venue was forced to change!
Not that it was a bad thing. The restaurant was appropriately decorated for the Arena-themed party, transformed into a tropical paradise "exhibit" with mechanical parrots flying around, and mosquito nets strewn all over various "wax figures". Or, as those not playing along with the theme would call them, the wait staff, all dressed in various exhibit clothing to reflect those found in the museum. The menu was all over the place, too - everything from "gift shop" chocolate truffles to "space pizza" to "Roosevelar's Bull Moose Rib Rack" could be had. And best of all, no one was complaining. After all, what did a little renovation hurt when the substitute was hardly lacking?
But Jack knew better. The party was supposed to be at the mansion, but that was the only true part of the story. In reality, the graffiti had appeared, mysteriously, all over the Director's gilded ballroom and on the outside walls the day before. Naturally, once the Peacekeepers had moved in to investigate, the matter on the party's location - not to mention its fate - was very quickly settled. Ironic, really, given how the Director had once claimed to Jack that throwing a party at such a place was out of the question.
At least Jack himself was not under suspicion for the crime. This time. But what about next time? They had almost condemned him for an accident; was it really so far of a stretch they could punish him for...nothing at all?
It was a question he'd have to push aside tonight. He was dressed in a leafy green frock coat, wearing a mask inspired by the tribal masks in the Arena. Because, on top of being a costume party, it was also a museum-inspired masque, and Jack was apparently meant to be a bird camouflaged in the jungle - a callback to his time in a more recent Arena as well as a nod to the current. A bird that had to chat up everyone with a smile underneath, in hopes that they would continue to bet on those District 8 Tributes still in the Arena, praying his eyes sparkled and his laugh sounded genuine enough. And - knowing how these parties would go - it would be an all night affair.
Hopefully, they wouldn't run out of Blue Mountain coffee before then.
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Or what used to be the lulls between Games. This quell has changed that landscape as well.
Minimalism had been the key she used when the stylists, lacking a proper group of Tributes to primp and preen until they shone how they preferred, turned their collective eyes on her. Even then, she'd walked out wearing more black than she ever preferred, including the most ludicrous silver buckles with crossed ears of wheat that ended up looking almost bat-like around her waist. The same silver ears of wheat crossed over her chest, arching over the top of each breast and going parallel to her collarbone. The mask was covering over her eyes, more ornate filigree of wheat yet again curling over the left side of her face.
Really, aside from being skin tight and far outside of her preferred realm of clothing, it wouldn't have been so bad -- but then there was the cape. Not just the cape, but the damnable thigh-high boot-heels, which Barbara knew she'd need to be proving were a menace to society before the night was through.
Thus the black wheat knight joined in with the press of hidden faces and often familiar voices, laughing and sliding between and around people as she sought out the ones she was keeping an eye on.
Until she tripped and ending up crashing through some of the mosquito netting, a feat considering it was attached to a person, trapping both herself, the unlucky sod she'd tripped backward into, and a most unlucky mechanical parrot in a jumble of limbs and cape and netting on the floor.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" With the controlled fall, both she and her unfortunate partner in the fall were fine, for all they were now quite thoroughly startled. "Are you okay?" About time that her clumsy reputation at these kinds of events start to surface again. She couldn't be too presentable. That led to dangerous places. "Here, hold still, I think I can get us untangled --"
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apple cidera totally alcoholic drink in hand.He then blinked, realizing what was in front of him. With a sigh and a rub of his temples, he went to grab Barbara, in order to disentangle her.
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"There's no scything way to stay standing in these things! I'm sorry, ouch, oh, wait, don't pull on that --"
She wiggled her fingers as she pulled her hand back through a loop of the netting. How that'd even happened was a mystery presently beyond her.
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Funny to hear from a woman still tangled in mosquito netting, but the comment on heels at least appeared to be true.
She plucked at the edge of the netting, pulling the mass of it off her head, settling it around her shoulders. "Have they shoved you into any lately?"
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In fact, it was a bit sad how well he could walk in heels, given he did have to wear them often for other parties. His Stylists liked making him as tell as humanly possible, after all. Give him an even more imposing height.
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Now hey, there's an idea...! Or so she seemed to think, given how her eyes lit up behind her domino.
[1/2]
Wait. She was being serious.
"Really?"
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"My hero!" she exclaimed, bracing herself. "I'm mighty pleased the King's willing to help out a low little farmhand like me. When do we start?"
Excuses to wander town on semi-set schedules were her friends.
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Jack blinked. Not many Mentors actually agreed with him. It was almost surreal. He actually found himself at a loss for words.
"Maybe not tonight, but...tomorrow?"
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Not that she needs it, but a refresher run was a good challenge for herself. It added to recalling again and again how to fall correctly without injury.
"Where do you want to meet up?"
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"Er." He had to take a moment before clearing his throat, to at least try and salvage himself and pretend that, of course, he knew she'd agree! "Well! Tomorrow at 9:30 am. Once I am done with my workout, I can meet you in the District 8 Suites."
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"9:30am at the District 8 Suites. I've got it! Don't go backin' out on me now, you hear?"