thecapitol | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Had his wine not already ended up all over his sleeve, the jerk as Harley dragged him away would certainly have knocked the remains all over him. Luckily, his glass was empty - and when she tilted her mask up, his eyes behind the mask widened.

"Wait," he exclaimed as she tugged him after her, making no attempt to hinder their progress but every attempt to catch another glimpse of her face. "What did you say your name was?"

The irritation in his voice was replaced in large part by excitement. He couldn't be entirely sure yet, but her face was familiar-- the kind of familiar that belonged to the screen, to a particular kind of distant celebrity, to the Arena. If he'd actually managed to collide with a Tribute--!

"Harley Quinn of course!" She repeated herself and released him once they were at the snack table. She confronted an Avox who was carving up slices of ham for people and demanded his knife. The Avox of course looked terrified because he know how VERY against the rules it was to give a tribute a weapon. But before he could stop her Harley had snatched it from him.

Knowing she would only have a few seconds before a peacekeeper came to relieve her of her tool she held out her hand to Cecil. "Jacket please!"

She may not have been a Tribute as long as some, but after four arenas (Though this last one she had died on the first day) Harley had become a fan favorite for District 9. Infamous might be a good term considering her antics in the capitol were often as entertaining as in the arena.

This was a source of some conflict for Cecil. On the one hand, handing over his jacket would be a reason to extend his first-ever conversation with a real, recent Arena veteran. ...On the other hand, the jacket had been expensive, and whatever she was planning to do with it, he couldn't imagine a knife was going to repair. Especially considering who she was - Harley Quinn, the prankster! The irrepressible! Man, this was so neat.

In the end, though, frugality won half the battle over journalistic enthusiasm - he hadn't gotten his first paycheck from the radio show yet, after all. He got as far as removing the jacket (thank goodness it hadn't bled through onto his shirtsleeve), though he only folded it over an arm.

"Look," he said, jovially, but his smile didn't quite make it up to the eyes of the mask. "How about we save my tailor the trouble of dealing with that, and you just pay my dry-cleaning bill instead? Maybe with some of that hard-earned Arena credit?"

She looked like she was considering it for a moment, but it was less then a moment really because she knew the clock was ticking.

"Nah. Give it here!" She snatched the jacket from him and turned her back to him, hacking away like she was stabbing someone to death. The Avox on the other side of the table was cowering as shreds of fabric flew into the air.

A low thunk noise could be heard as hat appeared to be a ball of air crashed into Harley's head sending her to the floor. Three Peacekeepers surrounded her, two pinning her down and one retrieving the knife and coat.

Silently he handed the jacket to Cecil...except it didn't have sleeves anymore so it had the appearance of a rather fancy vest...save for a couple of loose threads around the arm holes. After all she'd only cut the thing she hadn't sewn it.

"You're welcome!" She croaked from under the two guards who were apparently waiting for orders from their superiors.

Cecil watched in dismay, hands half-raised uselessly, as his jacket met its end. He didn't make a move to save it from Harley's ministrations-- like he was going to approach an armed Tribute!-- but even his hasty step backward was a little halfhearted, as though reluctant to abandon it to its fate.

He was relieved when the Peacekeepers got the knife away from her. It was easy to forget, after all, that Tributes were dangerous! It was why they were famous! Even wielded in the name of... of fashion (for lack of a better word), a knife was a terrible thing to allow someone fresh out of the Arena. (What a story!, he was definitely only sort of thinking.)

He received his ruined jacket with only a small grimace. "Well," he said, holding it out in front of him, and looking between it and Harley. "I... was planning to go shopping with my first paycheck anyway, I guess!"

This would be a hell of a story to tell. But next week, maybe. Once he was over the loss.

"What do you mean? It's still good!" Harley protested as the Peacekeepers hauled her up and started to drag her off.

"Hey where are we going?" She asked the masked men who promptly ignored her and continued their march for the doors.

With her wrist bound all she could do was wave her fingers "Buh bye! Enjoy your new vest! Or else!"

And like that she was gone. Hopefully to be seen again.

But possibly not.