(no subject)

[gamemakers]

WHO| Everyone!
WHAT| A Halloween Ball
WHEN| Halloween night
WHERE| The Tribute Center
WARNING/NOTES| None atm. Please tag in your subject lines if anything comes up.

The Capitol had been winding up to this for weeks. More and more extravagant decorations had begun to appear all over the city. Gruesome alleys dripping with gore, houses transformed into creaking, ancient cobweb covered dwellings, flickering ghosts haunting windows and doorways. The citizens themselves had becomes more and more extravagant as the days crept closer, dripping in glitters spiderwebs, hair teased to coil around pumpkins and crows, and decked out in meticulous costumes, often celebrating past victors, and even current tributes.

The ball at the Tribute Training Center wasn't anywhere near the only party that night, but it was the most extravagant, and the most sought after. The decorations had gone towards the classic (perhaps the goverment realizing other areas might move too close to home.) The building had been transformed into a spooky, ancient looking mansion, over taken by spiders and lit with flickering candles everywhere. The tables were spread with unimaginable heaping of treats, from grotesqueness mock organs to sparkling jewel colored sugar covered candies. Avoxs move about, for once literally ghosts, covered in their own shrouds of spider webs and sheer gauze, holding plates of smoking drinks.

Attendance for the Tributes was mandatory. As were costumes. And oh boy did their stylists go all out for this one. It was a parade and a party all rolled into ones and they weren't going to slack on that.

Comments

[buildingreality]

Someone in the Capitol had a sense of humour. It wasn't like the references to the Greek myth went lost on her - they were actually completely obvious, even to someone who wasn't necessarily familiar with them - and when her stylist was finally done with the overly elaborate costume (because nothing in the Capitol could have been simple), Ariadne realised quickly exactly who she was being dressed up as for the Ball.

Ariadne. Witty.

Of course, the costume itself was rather pretty, with the skirts seemingly going on forever behind her. Her hair is pinned up in an elaborate updo, decorated with glittering jewels; she wouldn't have doubted for a minute that they were real, since the Capitol didn't seem to spare any expense for their Tributes. Clasped in her hands almost constantly was a ball of red yarn, and at least it gave her something to focus on while meandering around the party. It was nice to be fawned over in a different sort of way, with people congratulating her, and her not having to worry about suffering another dramatic and potentially painful death at the hands of another Tribute.

She looked curious as she wandered around, finding one of the smoking drinks without much trouble, and taking to carrying that about as another excuse not to shake hands if she could help it.

[polyturtle]

A couple minutes later, the crabgrass Higgs boson finds himself standing next to Ariadne. He smiles as he realizes who it is.

"Hey, Ariadne."

[galaxyherder]

If she waits for the crowd to stop swarming around Ariadne, she'll never get the chance to say anything to her at all. And with the way things have changed; from the massive public ceremony of her own victory to the more intimate and private and secluded debut of Ariadne's victory, it's not been as easy to just casually approach the girl.

There is no privacy here. In fact, the crowds swarm in even closer, all grins and smiles as Shepard approaches the young recent victor. Two 'exotic' victors in one place! They're like a swarm of bees to honey.

"It's nice to see you again," Shepard greets her, trying to pretend like she isn't dressed as some ridiculously frilly nursery rhyme character. Apparently her stylist thought she would try and be cute and play off her own name as well, but the result was some Capitol-inspired version of Little Bo Peep.

[sameeyes]

Across the crowd he'd spotted her. It was all he could do not to break a glass and slit her throat in front of all of them and prove once and for all who the true victor was.

He watched her through out the night. Dark eyes following her every step, every person she talked to. Bested by someone with no training. His blood boiled and his fist tightened at his side.

Slowly he got closer to her, maneuvering his way through the party, with a careful exactness that if people knew what he was doing, they would think it was all planned. Soon enough, he was close enough to touch her-kill her.

"You," he'd never bothered to learn her name. It was pointless. He'd be going home soon enough.

[gruesome]

Some had very nearly been able to talk his stylists into just letting him go as himself. To humans, after all, he was basically a nightmare personified, no matter how much he resented the fact. But then one of them had had an idea, there had been a flurry of secrecy and design-work, and the morning of the ball, he'd been presented with the elaborate, coal-feathered wings, nearly as long as he was tall.

They were uncomfortable, but they were nearly weightless and he was glad of that. Grues weren't made to carry much, and he had Lottie on his back as well as they arrived at the ballroom. That had not been his idea either, but he minded her less than the wings and paint. Hesitating outside, he turned to look at her, with a faint smile.

"Do you want to see if we can scare them?"

[needsaprince]

"Well, we might as well!" She quipped, leaning close to his shoulder.

The idea of going as a witch had at first rubbed Lottie all wrong. Witches, in her mind were at best scary old saggy woman. And at worst...she didn't want to think about those who crept in the bayou, spinning real magic, if the stories were true.

But then the stylist started dressing her, layering her in dark fabrics that shimmered with oily rainbows, painting her dark, and weaving crow feathers into her hair. By the time she was done she felt stunning, an enchantress in black feathers.

By the time they were ready to enter the ball...while, she had embraced this role thoroughly.

[mudbloodhater]

Draco didn't mind the parties quite as much as the Arenas themselves; he liked being able to do what he wanted (within reason), and being to flaunt his upper-class upbringing off with the Capitol citizens who seemed more similar to the purebloods back home than anything else. But he didn't like having to dress up in stupid costumes. Especially not when those aforementioned stupid costumes matched the rest of the people in his District.

Quite tragically, someone had figured out that his name meant 'dragon', and decided to be cute about things. Needless to say, as much as he enjoyed parties, it was hard to truly enjoy oneself when decked out in ridiculous garb. The glittering outfit oscillated between dark and light blues, catching the light just so to create the effect of scales; a set of rather sharp looking spikes jutted out threateningly in a row down his shoulders. He wasn't wholly certain that they were sharp, but he wasn't taking any chances by poking one. It all felt a bit like a set of dress robes, and that was reassuring at least somewhat, even if he wouldn't have chosen these particular ones for himself. He was fairly certain that he was going to get the glitter one of the stylists had smudged across his face in ornate patterns in his eye by the end of the night, but the first goal was simply to get something to eat. Or drink. Preferably that didn't look dead. This place put Hogwarts to shame.

[nightlightheart]

"A dragon, huh? That's cute," Tony greets him with a smirk, but there might be some sympathy there underneath it all. He's long since learned that Though at least Tony wasn't dressed as a personified version of his name sake. Tony himself is no dragon or unicorn, but from the ashes of captivity, never has a Phoenix metaphor been more personified .... well he's eating his own words now. Smoldering feathers and all.

[cowardfacinghappiness]

The combination of her sulky attitude lately and her dismal performance in the last Games had apparently lost Momoko much of her good standing with her Escorts. Or so she could only assume from the torture they were putting her through tonight.

Rather than simply allow Momoko her usual choice of lacey dress and parasol (what? she could have been a princess) they had pressured her Stylist to create something that went with the District theme, not to mention the required costume. So, of course, lumberjack was the way to go.

Momoko was wearing flannel.

In a despair that was in it's way far worse than anything she'd gone through in the Arena, Momoko huddled in a corner with her arms crossed, trying not to be seen and murderously wishing her axe prop was real and sharpened. What kind of life was this when being dressed as a tree was the preferable option?

[buildingreality]

It was the first time Ariadne had seen Momoko in a while, since the other girl had died, basically. Though she might not have known quite what to say - she wasn't big on small talk - she did feel like it was probably prudent to greet her instead of going on with life without doing so. Besides, she liked Momoko.

In a graceful ghosting of thin, gauzy fabric against the floor, she made her way towards the other girl, offering her a little smile by way of greeting, speaking once she was within earshot, though not terribly close, "How are you finding the party so far?"

[the_marshal]

Eventually, someone slipped down the length of the wall to join her in the corner. Someone who looked as displeased with his bare-chested, corseted, be-caped matador costume as Momoko did with hers.

Sure, his stylist had raved and he'd heard nothing but compliments - and some incrediably vigorous at that - but he felt ridiculous. Hell, he felt more like the bull at the meat market now than he did when he'd actually been dressed as one during the interviews.

"Misery mind some company?" he asked, broad shoulders slumped and stance screaming how uncomfortable he felt.

[polyturtle]

Oh, hey. Someone has placed food right next to Momoko. Or rather a something that looks like a thing with a plant on its back-

Oh. No, its just Donatello.

"Hey there!"

[needsaprince]

"Momoko!"

Effie grinned, moving up to the other girl to give her a hug, before stepping back to look at her outfit.

"...oh honey."

[mannersmatter]

Effie gingerly pressed one of the jewels decorating her cheeks into her skin. It had come loose, and although she had a little tube of glue tucked into her costumes, she didn't really want to rush off to the bathroom to remove on little jem.

But it would not stay put.

She could just pull it off, she supposed. But she was painted a lovely, pearly white, and she was sure, if the paint didn't come off fully with the little gem, it would certainly smudge there. And although she also had a small tube of the make up it just wouldn't looks the same.

So that left her sitting here, pressing the gem on and just hoping desperately it would stay put. Not touching it at all might be the best plan. However, if it fell off and she lost it, her make up would be ruined for the night.

Maybe she should just go glue it back on.

[mudbloodhater]

"I can't believe you've decorated yourself like that."

Perhaps not the best greeting, but it did him well enough. Besides, there was only so much one man could take, and Draco had been pushed to his limit by the fact that he couldn't even do so much as a proper Summoning charm while on his own. Besides, Effie was one of the few people he actually saw often enough to feel comfortable being slightly less than the charming facade he put on for the Capitol while there.

[polyturtle]

Once more, Donatello's stylists...had no clue what to do with him. He didn't quite understand it. He'd been around long enough for them to have some ideas for his unusual frame, right? Or at least not to quake in fear as he approached, knowing what he was and - now - what he was capable of. Nope. His stylists had decided to fuss over Shepard.

So Donatello decided to take on the job of stylist for himself. In the two weeks after he revived and the ball, he'd worked on his own costume. Untold cups of coffee and liberal amounts of needle and thread - and plastic and neon lights and water - unveiled a most unusual costume.

His shell was covered in two layers. The first was a transparent, thin, convex plastic tub filled with water and yellow spindly weeds which swayed slightly in the thin aquatic environment. Under the tub were red and blue neon lights placed into the groove patterns of his carapace, gently lighting up the black which otherwise covered the shell - and really most of his body, as he was wearing a black body suit. His arms and legs had similar neon lighting spindling on the joints. Even his bandanna was blue, tapering off to purple, then red. Though really he didn't necessarily need the bandanna since his face is covered in a black mask but, well. Old habits die hard and shell it all it took hours to figure out how to do the taper dye and he wasn't letting it go to waste.

Thus Don the would-be-stylist the Higgs Boson was born. Everyone stared at him, the runner-up of the most recent Arena, and he gave them a wave and a shy smile. Maybe they liked his costume. Shell, maybe they even knew what he was!

"Oh!" Then he heard someone gasp. "Look, dear, the turtle dressed up as a crabgrass!"

Well, at least he tried.

[tailforbrains]

"Is that what you're supposed to be?" Neeshka asked, leaning on the nearest table and looking rather unlike herself. She, after all, was dressed up like an angel: white robe (way too short for any real self-respecting angel), fake feathered wings, halo, even a blue dye-job on her hair and powder on her skin. She also looked distinctly uncomfortable in the get-up-- though not as uncomfortable as Don had to be-- despite trying to look cool and snide right there. Total fail on the attempt. "Crab grass? I've gotta say, I've never seen crab-grass quite that, uh, color."

[x5452]

Even if she's no longer the latest hot new victor, Max has made a distinct effort to stay in the public eye. She's dangerous. She knows the Capitol knows she's dangerous, and so she's endeavored to make herself popular enough that it will hopefully stay any too-eager machinations of those in power.

After flirting with the paparazzi a bit, Max makes her way into the ballroom, her gown reminding her of the Victorian era, even if no one in Panem really recalled it. Gingerly adjusting her black lace mask, she sweeps in, plucks a champagne glass off the nearest waiter, and takes up a spot to consider the crowd.

She looks for friends; Annie is likely not here given how she feels about crowds, but surely Tony is amongst the fleet, as well as Eliot and Dom and perhaps others. Though she must make a point of greeting Ariadne, the latest winner. The photo op mustn't be missed.

Inwardly, Max sighs. At least the booze is good.

You ready for this?!

[the_marshal]

First person she sees though, isn't a friend, or even anyone she knows.

It's Wyatt, in all his muscled-matador glory, emerging from the corner he's been hiding in all night to fetch a fresh whiskey from the bar.

He moved up into the open space beside her and gave her small, slightly awkward nod in greeting as he waited to catch the barkeep's attention.

[wheresthepie]

Dean was completely new to everything that was happening in the capitol; from the parties to the food, to the way they dressed. He was definitely used to jeans, plaid, and a shirt underneath, sometimes a jacket on top if the weather was chilly, but this? This was definitely new. His stylists were... different, to say the least, but when he asked to be an angel, he got mostly what he wanted.

With black wings on the back of his vest, which was white and bedazzled with an array of colourful sequins, covering the entire front of the vest, it wasn't as horrible as the hunter would have expected. However, the wings were glittery, and he was wearing not only matching eyeshadow, but lipstick as well. The pants weren't nearly as bad; though tight and black leather, they were plain enough that he was comfortable, and the final touch was a pair of white, bedazzled cowboy boots.

Dean's attempt to avoid the paparazzi was a complete failure, his picture being taken left and right, but he eventually got beyond the camera's view and inside. Huffing and puffing a bit, he looked around, not knowing anyone, or even recognizing anyone, he went looking for the nearest liquor stand.

[polyturtle]

Here's something else which might be new to Dean in the Capitol: a monster that isn't from the bowels of Hell, cavorting with women and not trying to eat their souls or impregnate them with evil! In fact he looks a bit awkward!

Actually Don was suddenly spotted by a very well-to-to if slightly tipsy Capitol citizen, who gushed over him. As a result, about a half-dozen of her friends were suddenly surrounding "the turtle man" like an anime harem. They were peppering him with questions about where he was from, how old was he, and what was he for the party? The girls especially got a laugh out of trying to pronounce "Higgs boson" in their inebriated state.

And then they saw "the new guy". And now the group might be stampeding towards him, dragging poor, awkwardly smiling Don with them. Because oh my god, it was one of the new guys! And oh my god, we're also talking to the turtle man!

swap the "SWAT" for "NYPD" and there you have it...

[itswhoyouare]

Someone in the Capitol was just asking to get their ass kicked. While being pulled into a strange place and being ordered to kill complete strangers in a deathtrap for people's amusement was enough to piss her off, it was her stylist's choice of Halloween costume that sent her over the edge.

She was supposed to be a sexy, badass cop (which wasn't much of a stretch) but the outfit was ridiculous. The kevlar vest wasn't much of a vest at all, the pants were too tight, and the boots were like the ones she used while working in Vice. The NYPD hat was just freaking adorable. Of course the badge, gun, and handcuffs on her utility belt were all fakes -- very convincing but elaborate fakes of course -- and every time she kept trying to take off the ridiculous fingerless gloves her stylist swatted her with her spiked clutch and Anna finally decided to leave it be.

She was just going to find some booze and sulk and mumble to herself in Italian about how stupid the whole damn thing was and how they knew nothing about her job and anything else she wanted to bitch about.

Anna wasn't drunk enough for this shit.

Re: swap the "SWAT" for "NYPD" and there you have it...

[x5452]

Max casually slid her way back to the bar. (She and Tony may be having a secret drinking contest that isn't so secret. It happens, right?) Placing her order, she murmurs sidelong to the other woman.

"Try to look like you're enjoying yourself, even if you'd rather shove spikes in your eyes. They don't like it when you don't give them what they want."

[luckofthedevil]

Alex hadn't wanted to go to some ridiculous party, but he'd been stuffed in a costume and carted off to the function anyway. His stylist had thought it quite clever, to play on Alex's last name, but even after Alex saw the get-up some of the other Tributes had on he still didn't like it. He'd tried to explain the basic football kit to his stylist and had been told the sponsors wouldn't find it appealing. Maybe they didn't have football around here (which, considering their form of entertainment was watching people kill each other, wasn't all that surprising).

He tugged at the hem of the tailcoat, his entire posture screaming discomfort. Why did the breeches have to be so... tight?

[polyturtle]

Well, here comes someone talking to the back of Alex's head.

"Nice costume!"

Its not meant to be mean spirited, either. Donatello doesn't see equitarian costumes that often. Unfortunately, he doesn't realize just who it is he is giving the compliment to. At least, not yet.

OTA!

[tailforbrains]

While Neeshka's last costume had been devilishly appropriate, today apparently the stylists wanted something a bit different. The tiefling was feeling remarkably self-conscious, dressed as... an angel. Well, to her, a "celestial", but the wings and halo and pretty white tunic were pretty obviously "angel" to anyone else. They'd even dyed her hair blue, and powdered her ruddy skin to something paler that didn't totally clash with the blue. The only signs of her demon heritage are the tail-- done up with gold leaf and wire around the spade-- and horns-- also covered in gold leaf, and tied in with the clear plastic support holding up the halo.

She was utterly embarrassed and even a little offended, to be honest, and had thus far spent most of the ball sulking by the food table and avoiding company.

ota

[big_badass_hero]

Chris had fought the whole time with the stylist, though at least he had managed to talk her out of the whole zombie thing. Three hours later he was looking at himself in the mirror and wishing that he had agreed with the zombie one. After all tight pants that could almost be called painted on, with the knee high boots didn’t seem that practical. The shirt he wore was a poet’s shirt, laced in the front, laces loose, over that was a vest, to finish the outfit was a long coat and a sword (welded so he couldn’t draw it, much to his dismay; he had checked when his stylist wasn’t looking). The jacket had symbols on it that reminded him a little of cult symbols he had read about when looking up information on the killers that had been in Arklay mountains. Of course the lead had been off.

“Really I get caught in public like that they’ll laugh their asses off.” Though he was glad the belt, and shirt were long enough to hide how tight the pants were a little. The jacket helped more, but it was far too hot to wear it and the vest.

Okay, you’re right the vest can go, doesn’t look right.” She held out her hand for it while he took it off only to be handed the jacket again. The green crushed velvet felt too delicate in his hands, but she was the boss. At least she had sized it so he could at least move if he had to. Chris already felt uncomfortable not being able to have his gun or a knife.

“Okay you happy now? I just want to get this over with.”

Another glare from her, Chris sighed, he wasn't winning any awards with this little show, but the sooner the night was done the better. Last thing he wanted was to actually be seen like this.

“Look doll, this ain’ my kind of party.”

She sighed, she had a hopeless case, maybe it would work though. With that he was escorted away.

w00t

[polyturtle]

And then there was a giant turtle.

Well. A giant turtle dressed as crabgrass something. He's quietly drinking some apple cider, watching people. When he's not being randomly picked out by someone who is a big fan of his, of course. And one older man is coming to him, shaking his hand, congratulating him on his amazing run in the last Arena, and oh how he cried when he died for Ariadne...

[greymatter]

After his last stylist had quit in tears, he'd thought things would so much easier for him. That is, until he'd been assigned this new one. Unlike the last, this one did not cower when he raised his voice. Hers rose right along with it. And there were no tears.

The fight that had ensued between them at the mention of a mandatory Halloween party with mandatory dress up had been brutal, involving a screaming match and many items destroyed. But when his aggression had turned to her, she hadn't budged, looking him calmly in the eyes and informing him of just what had gotten Tate Langdon executed.

So here he was, more than fashionably late and dressed in a very realistic looking mummy costume, the bandages appearing worn and dirty. Or, it would be very realistic looking, if he hadn't already torn them away from his face and smudged the makeup.

OTA. Fight me. I dare you.

[sameeyes]

A god of war and bloodshed they'd said.

That's what the...stylists had said he was and how they'd chosen his outfit for the evening. Heavy armor, a useless empty sheathe at his side, and an elaborate helmet with a crimson red plumb was apparently how the god of war dressed.

An evening full of frivolous things and people. And now he'd been forced into it.

His dark eyes watched the others, searching out faces he recognized. Those he'd killed. Those who had a hand in killing him. His blood boiled at the sight of them. But he wasn't an idiot. Oh no. He'd seen what had happened to the boy he'd fought with in the arena for killing someone outside of it.

He refused to pick at the food on the tables like so many other seemed to be doing. Distractions. Distractions to keep him from going home. Rage welled in him more at the thought. What was the point of all of this? Why bother keeping them here? His eyes narrowed more as more loud obnoxious natives flooded the room.

Occasionally, he wished he was stupid. Just so he could be rid of everyone in the room.

[nofunandgames]

He couldn't be hands off with this tribute forever.

Still, it was the first one in a long time Elias worried about silting his throat.

"How are you doing?" He asked, voice smooth, watching him carefully from his good eye. The incident with Tate had him on his toes even more. He'd never liked that kid, and now he didn't really like this one.

Can't the food here be pulled out of the internet?!

[retrieverchef]

Eliot twirled his date around the dance floor, smile pasted on his face. Parties like this were more Sophie's idea of fun than his. He wouldn't normally be seen around a gathering this fancy unless it was for a job. He much preferred the smaller gatherings and trick-or-treating he'd gone to growing up back home. At least he wasn't completely alone in having to put up with this ridiculousness.

He glanced around at some of his fellow Tributes and had to admit he was relieved Valeria had let him give her the basic design for the costume. He wore an 1880s-style suit, wide-brimmed black hat, gun belt, and mask. Granted, she had gone a little wild with the fabrics and had put a string of small lights around the outer edge of the mask, but at least it was comfortable and he looked remotely normal.

yes, please! om nom nom.

[itswhoyouare]

Anna was on the dance floor simply because it was in her path to the exit. And of course, they denied her request to get the hell out of there, so now she was making her return trip across the floor, weaving around people with a ridiculously fake smile on her face and politely declining offers from Capitol citizens to dance.

She just wanted to go back to the bar, damnit.