thecapitol | (no subject)

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(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah," Don chuckles. "I keep getting mistaken for a plant."

It doesn't surprise him. The kind of civilization Panem was, by nature, inhibited deep, independent thought. It was just like many of the science fiction dystopic fictions he had voraciously read as a kid back home.

In Oceania at the present day, Science, in the old sense, has almost ceased to exist. In Newspeak there is no word for 'Science.' The empirical method of thought, on which all the scientific achievements of the past were founded, is opposed to the most fundamental principles of Ingsoc.

"Um, but..." Quickly Don came back to the dystopia he lived in. "Thank you. Your costume looks nice also."

"I don't doubt that," she replied mildly, giving the outfit a quick once-over. It did look interesting, though she would have never guessed what it was. Just the nature of going as a sub-atomic particle, maybe.

The citizens of the Capitol always sort of surprised her, a little. For all of their intense body modifications, and their focus on 'beauty' as they saw it, they were surprisingly backwards. It was a wonder they knew the myth her name came from at all. But then again, they were bizarrely similar to the ancient Greeks of lore.

"Thank you. The District stylists seemed to think it was witty. At least it's comfortable."

"I think it's fitting. You are pretty clever."

It was true. She had been a valuable ally in the Arena. Still, he was glad she was out of there. Perhaps her skills could be useful outside of the Arena - and not just for the Capitol's sake.

"What are you drinking, by the way?"

Her smile grew a little, and she glanced away modestly for a moment, concealing it in a glance around the room; when she turned back to him, Ariadne's face was tipped up slightly, visibly proud of herself for all she had accomplished. She knew half the reason she was alive now - instead of trapped in Limbo - was because of her own cleverness. And though she was grateful to be out of the Arena finally, it didn't change that she no longer knew what was expected of her in the Capitol.

"Just something they've been passing out," she said, glancing to it, letting the little puffs of smoke dust over her fingers where they held the glass. "It's like champagne, I think; I can't figure out what they did to it."

"Its probably dry ice. A small amount usually suffices." Don crossed his arms, looking around. "Do you think they have a drinking age here, though?..."

It was best not to tell Ariadne his own part in keeping her alive. Part of the reason was the alliance he made with Eliot - it was better that people didn't know it was part of a concerted effort to save the less Arena-adaptable Tributes. The other part was Donatello's own nature of simply downplaying his own efforts - he simply did what he felt needed to be done. Even if it sparked rumors about him ~~and really, he was surprised no one had come up to him about he felt about his "girlfriend" winning the Arena yet~~.

"It doesn't have the same smell. I suppose they could have tweaked it somewhat, adjusted the way it was made so that it achieved the same effect, but didn't have quite the same off-putting odour to it. It seeps into things." Ariadne frowned a little, staring now at the glass before taking another sip. "But that's the Capitol for you, I think."

Doubtless, she would react poorly to being told that she couldn't win of her own volition, that she only survived because they wanted her to survive. She was good enough, perhaps not to win, but certainly to survive; it had been stupid mistakes that had killed her the last few times. For now, though, Ariadne was content in the knowledge that she had won. How didn't matter.

"Have you tried any of the food around here yet?"

Probably not. Not that Donatello actually thought Ariadne was weak or helpless - his time with her in the Arena taught him that. Ariadne was not like Lottie or Momoko, who really didn't have any defensive or offensive advantage in the Arena whatsoever. And really - he probably might not have survived without her, especially when he had crashed. It really was a team effort. But Ariadne had been one of the people Eliot wished to bring out of the Arena, and Don had made that promise to help him.

"That is a good point." Donatello nodded. "Actually, the food isn't so bad. Just be careful with the candy corn cake - its a bit spicy."

Edited 2012-10-26 17:05 (UTC)

Her involvement in all that thanks to Eliot wouldn't have surprised her; time and again, she found herself growing considerably more concerned about what exactly the man was playing at. Sometimes he had good ideas, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he was single-minded.

He reminded her of Cobb. And not necessarily in a good way.

All she knew was she'd be keeping an eye on those inside, making sure they had Sponsors when they needed them. Even if the others in her District protested.

"Spicy candy corn? I've never heard of that." She'd avoid it. "I haven't had any of it yet. I've been shuttled around too much for that, up until now."

"Yeah. Someone put a bit too much cinnamon in the batter, I think." He smiled. "The pumpkin chowder's pretty good on the other hand. Its spicy, but not too spicy."

"I'll have to try that one when I get the chance."

She glanced to him, wondering when she got so comfortable talking to a giant turtle. Then again, nothing had really ever shocked her; even when Cobb told her about dream-building and inception and everything like that, she hadn't been that shocked.

"Have very many people been bothering you? Trying to get interviews out of you about the Arena?"

"A little bit. I guess they wanted to talk to me because I was the runner up." The smile lessens slightly. "Also because I apparently had the highest kill count. I guess a lot of people are already betting on the next Arena."

Edited 2012-10-26 19:14 (UTC)

"I'm not surprised." Her smile grew more fond, and she shook her head a little, the curls hanging loose from her updo bouncing. "I think we singlehandedly took out most of the Tributes towards the end. I wouldn't be surprised if you got a number of Sponsors just from your last performance."

"Yeah..." At this, Don looked down and nodded. "I've already gotten letters from people saying they'd sponsor me next round. It's kind of surreal. I mean...this kind of thing would be something my older brothers would probably handle better. They're the fighters of the family."

Edited 2012-10-26 19:30 (UTC)

Her eyes remained on him, studying him silently for a moment. "How many of...your kind are there?"

"There's just six of us overall. Me, my brothers, my father and a friend of ours named Leatherhead. At least that's all as far as I know." Donatello rubbed his head. "Only me and my brothers are actually turtles. Master Splinter is a rat and Leatherhead is a crocodile. But we were all mutated by the same thing, and we all live in the sewer near one another."

Edited 2012-10-26 20:04 (UTC)

At least he'd taken it well. She'd tried to be tactful; there was no saying how many cameras were on them at any given point in time, after all. Still, Ariadne tipped her head to one side, regarding him with a sort of curiosity that couldn't be denied. "What happened?"

"...Radioactive alien teleporter waste." Best explanation, really. "My brothers and I were exposed when we were babies, which resulted in our mutation, along with Master Splinter. Leatherhead lived elsewhere when he mutated."

"That's interesting."

Hard to fathom, but interesting nonetheless. "How did you find that? It couldn't have been a normal sort of childhood, I suppose."

"Actually, it...sort of found us." Don sheepishly smiled. "Me and my brothers were taken from a pet shop when the accident that brought the ooze down to the sewers happened, and we got separated from our owner. Master Splinter, well...his owner had died several days prior and had gone down to save us. And...well, Master Splinter did try to make it as normal as he could. Considering we lived in New York's sewer system and...he also had master-level martial arts training. And was a rat raising...four turtles."

Beat. Master Splinter. A rat, In New York.

Oh that suddenly sounded bad.

"But--Master Splinter is a nice rat! He's not...er..."

Making it worse.

Edited 2012-10-27 16:28 (UTC)

It was probably lucky that Ariadne was largely European in background; the worst she did was wrinkle her nose a little, tipping her head to allow the curls pinned at the back of her head bounce a little bit more in a far-too-cheerful way.

"I didn't know rats were nice. But I assume that if he has master-level martial arts training, he probably doesn't carry a version of the black plague." Whether or not she was teasing him was up to Don; her expression gave nothing away. Though she was.

"Nope." Donatello smiles. "Not as far as I know."

"I hope not. It might impact our professional relationship from here on out if it turned out otherwise," she pointed out, letting a small smile twitch to her mouth.

At this, Don chuckles.

"Y-yeah, it probably would."

"Do you miss them?"

She knew the question was fairly out of left field, but she doesn't really mind that much. It's never been her style to beat around the bush; she's all about the questions.

"...Every day."

What else could he say? But, still, he was ok with them not being there. It's something unspoken, but obvious.