thecapitol | (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

"Word has it the bull getup they had me wear for the interviews went over real well so they decided to carry on with it and - came up with this."

He looked Momoko over again, struck once more by how different she looked without all her usual lace and frills.

"Is that why they decided to dress you like a man? 'Cause you didn't like the other costume?" he asked.

"They do tend to stay with what works," she said, trying not to stare. It was difficult.

Momoko sniffed. "It was the same costume, just...differently designed. And I'm only sixteen, the perverts. This," she gestured disdainfully at the brown overalls and long-sleeved red flannel, "was the most creative idea they could come up with. There was a hat, too." 'Was' being the operative word, Momoko having tossed away the horrid thing somewhere in the crowd.

He took a moment to try and mentally picture her with the hat, then as his mouth started to twitch in amusement, quickly redirected the conversation back to hating the Capital.

"Worst part is, they actually like this stuff. These-" he reached back and caught his cape between his forefinger and thumb, "-are good decisions to them." He shook his head sadly as he let the cape fall back into place. "Makes me wonder how we could so wrong."

Edited 2012-10-26 16:03 (UTC)

Momoko nearly smiled. "Wrong in so many ways," she agreed. Unending murders and terrible fashions. It was practically her own personal hell. "It's not 'we'," she hastened to add. "This is America--isn't it? Japan would never stand for such a thing." She thought this over then clarified reluctantly, "Well. Less murder, certainly. They'd think it was far too depressing."

"As I understand it, yes," Wyatt nodded, then smiled a bitter sort of grin. "Seems I'm even actually from 'my district.'"

He shook his head and looked at her, "Have you heard anything about where you come from? What they're doing... what happened to them?"

"Maybe they'll let you visit," Momoko said, a weak attempt at empathic comforting. She didn't think the Districts would be any better than anywhere else in this horrible place, but he might like to see his home in some small way.

And speaking of home, she said, "No. Nothing." This was usually the point where she brought up her 'poor sick grandmother' but Momoko was hardly up to deception so she refrained. "I don't know how they'd do it anyway. I don't even know how they got me." She frowned. "Or why. They never told me why I was chosen."

He nodded vaugely. Yes, Elias has spoken of it and a part of him wanted too... but another part was honestly afraid of what he might find out there. Home was the memory of place he'd come from, his time, his city, his friends... something he could remember fondly. Goin' out there, seein' what it was now, what it had become, might ruin that.

And he wasn't ready for that.

"I wasn't either," he commented instead. "Was anyone?"

"Not that I know of," she said, shrugging. "They say it was carefully calculated, but it doesn't make much sense to me." She tossed her head, a weak attempt at her usual haughtiness. "I'm certainly not suited for the Arena. And obviously Tate was a mistake, even they finally realized that."

Wyatt readily agreed with that, but he wasn't sure if it was something that he should be sayin' aloud.

Women could be finicky like that.

Instead, he asked, "What happens to them do ya think? The ones that don't come back from the arena. Do they just, stay? Or do they go home?"

And if so, who made that decision? Why were Wyatt and Momoko and the others like them back to fight again, the others gone?

Popularity?

The idea made his skin crawl.

Momoko stared at nothing for a short time, then spoke. "I don't think they go home. I don't think they go anywhere. I think they stop being entertaining, and then they stop being useful."

"Pleasant thought," Wyatt muttered dryly.

Momoko shrugged carelessly. "This isn't a pleasant place. There's no room for pleasant thoughts."

"True enough," Wyatt sighed.

And, speak of the devil, as the crowds shifted in front of them, his stylist suddenly came into few - grin sporting and waving in Wyatt and Momoko's direction, apparently trying to call Wyatt out.

"Well, hell."

She followed his gaze and examined the new figure thoughtfully. "Friend of yours?" Not that Citizens and Tributes made a habit of being friends, of course, and this was definitely a Citizen.

"Not hardly," Wyatt replied dryly. "My stylist."

Otherwise known as the person singularly responsible for Wyatt's current predicament.

The stylist waved again, more insistently, and Wyatt drew back, flattening against the wall.

"I do believe that is my cue."

"Cue?" Momoko wrinkled her nose. "Are they making you do something? Do we have to put on shows now?" The thought was horrifying, especially in her outfit, but she mostly secure in the knowledge that someone would have said something.

A surprised chuckle bubbled out of Wyatt. "I imagine the would like to make me go out there and be their pretty pony again for those sponsors or the hell ever they are, but they've made the mistake of lettin' me see 'em comin'."

He shot her a wink. "That's my cue to make tracks."

"Ah," Momoko nodded wisely. "Run for it. Fast as you can."