thecapitol | It's a secret... tell your friends

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It's a secret... tell your friends

Who| Zoolander and anyone!
What| A welcome party of Capitol proportions
Where| Super secret warehouse party club
When| A few days before the crowning.
Warnings/Notes| None!

Everyone currently in the Tribute Tower and the well to do and elite from around the Capitol have all received some invitations! They say in hand written letters: "Wellcome Derik to Distrik 10!" and includes a time and a place. The time is tonight and the place is an old warehouse that most people probably thought was closed down. Anyone who chooses to take up this odd invitation will find that the warehouse is now a jumping club with music pulsing and many bouncers out front.

Of course, those who have received invitations are allowed in straight away. A couple of hours into the evening Derrick will have the DJs stop spinning for a bit so he can address everyone in his slightly airy tone.

"Wow, I'm excited to see so many of you here. This is a great way to be greeted into the fabulous world of tribute fashion."

Anyone from District 10 who comes in will be escorted to the VIP lounge where Derrick is waiting for them. He has custom drinks available and specialty gift bags that include colognes, makeup of every kind, and some creams for every sort of skin type.

"I'm glad you could come. I'm ready to meet all the fantastic people I'll be designing for and dressing up. Do you have any special requests?"

I should be noted these special requests may or may not be entirely forgotten by morning.

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"What --" Carlos protests, as he is escorted directly back to the VIP room. "Now wait just a minute, I didn't think this was a party, I just wanted to meet --"

And then Derrick speaks, and Carlos listens, and the wheels start to turn. "Wait," he says, suspicion clear in his voice. "You said you would be designing. You're not a Stylist, are you?"

Edited 2014-03-03 04:31 (UTC)

Derrick gives Carlos a big smile.

"I'm a former model turned stylist. I was just given the opening to work for District 10. I'm here to make you look really good."

He gives his trademark pout which of course Carlos knows because who in the Capitol doesn't know his signature look?

"The opening?" Carlos repeats, dumbfounded. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Telemachus in a couple of days... "Oh, no. I have a bad feeling about this," he mutters under his breath.

"Derrick," he says aloud, squaring his shoulders under the lab coat and peering intently through his glasses, "do you know what happened to the last District 10 stylist?"

"He had to leave suddenly for health reasons. I'm just super excited I get to take his place, I've always want to design for something really important. And this is really extra important."

That was the line Derrick had been given and he isn't about to question it. Why should he? Why would the Capitol lie to him? He motions a waiter over to bring them drinks. His tributes clearly have a lot to learn about relaxing, which is an important part of looking good.

Health reasons, Carlos thinks, face openly doubtful. But if that was true, why didn't I hear anything about it until now? Telemachus was perfectly healthy last week. There's more to this than I'm being told. He knows the kind of world he lives in, and he knows the kinds of things that happen to him. His mouth pulls into a thin line. Carlos does not know for sure that something has happened to Telemachus, but he thinks he knows who to ask about it.

This is the second time something unfortunate has befallen someone who cut Carlos's hair, and that doesn't look like coincidence, not to a scientist. It looks like a pattern. He sits down slowly on the retro grunge-punk armchair he had been ushered in front of.

"No thanks," Carlos mutters almost unconsciously to the waiter, waving the drink away.

Even if Carlos were to ask, this would probably be over Zoolander's head. He was more interested in his own place and what he's going to do for the world. He's going to be great, and he's going to start with a tribute that's already pretty popular.

"Don't worry, it's all paid for. You can have whatever you want."

"No, it's all right, I didn't come here to drink," Carlos replies. "I only came because I saw that it was my district and I wanted to know who you were."

Without missing a beat Derrick offers his hand.

"Hi, I'm Derrick Zoolander, former model and stylist for District 10 tributes. You don't even have to actually be from District 10 and I'll make you look good."

He's just so happy to be meeting so many new and interesting people.

"That's good," said Carlos, "since I'm not actually from District 10. None of us are, anymore." He wasn't sure what to make of this Derrick Zoolander, not without more data, but so far the unscientific impression he was getting was standard Capitol citizen. He supposed it was too much to hope for a stylist who was as understanding as Telemachus had been.

"You're from the Capitol, right?"

"Yes, I grew up here and my father still lives here with my brothers. They're not models, though, I'm the only one who turned out really really good looking."

He gave Carlos an extra intense look, which was pretty much like all his other looks, but he leaned forward more.

"So you're, like, from another planet, right? Like an alien?"

What?

"No, I'm not an alien," said Carlos tersely. "I'm from Earth, the same as you, just a different version of it." Hadn't anyone explained how the Neverending Quell worked to this man? How had he gotten a job as a stylist without understanding where the tributes came from?

Chris mills through the crowd, looking for their gracious host. When he locates Zoolander, he snaps and points to his face, smiling brighter than a human ought to be able to. "Derrick Zoolander."

An enthusiastic greeting if ever there was one, even if this particular stylist was a cause for budgetary concern unmatched by almost any other.

"You are a terrible speller."

"Oh, hi!" Zoolander sort of remembers this guy. He's always in a good mood, even when he has bad news, which he often has for Derrick.

Hopefully this doesn't mean Chris is going to cancel Zoolander's suit literally made of money. Because that's very fashionable right now and he really just wants to get it out there.

"Thanks, I know. Are you enjoying the party?"

He gestures to himself with both hands, reminding Derrick who he is. "Chris Traeger."

Looking around the room, his smile doesn't waver, though it is very extravagant and expensive-looking. He can let that go after a few drinks, and mostly because he has trouble saying 'no' to even extreme cases like Zoolander.

"Oh, yes. It is the best party I've ever attended." A beat and still no change in his face. "Until the next party." He laughs a little, even, enjoying how this particular stylist took everything he said as a compliment. It complimented his ability to make anything sound like a compliment in the first place.

Zoolander laughs like he's in on the joke. It sounds a little empty, but that's just how he sounds.

"That's the spirit. You always have to look for a better party. Otherwise, what's the point of partying at all?"

There, that sounds suitably deep and meaningful. Enough that Zoolander can feel good about himself.

He nods, slowly, as if absorbing such a deep statement. Despite thinking it's a bit shallow, in truth.

"To have fun! Right? Are you having fun at your party, Derrick?" His undivided attention is on this guy, a vertitable bookkeeping nightmare. But he is very nice, and so Chris can't help but have a soft spot for him. In the same way he has a soft spot for everyone.

His tone never really gets excited, but he does give a tight smile.

"Oh, for definite. How can I not have fun with some many interesting people here? There's like too many people to meet and talk to."

Zoolander bobs his head to the music, but doesn't manage to actually dance. He seems like he's sort of tightly wound considering how little he has to be thinking about.

"There can never be too many people. That's the beauty of a party." Though lately, he could just as easily have stayed at home and watched recaps of the games and cuddled his three-legged-dog. It's probably sad that he's missing his dog in the middle of talking to this guy, but he does what he can. "Unless you think there are too many people here?"

Hope those gift bags had a special cream for this skin type.

Orc lumbers into the club clad only in a pair of custom made jeans and shoes. His previous stylist had gone through a phase where he would try to paint Orc's bare chest and back with things. Orc didn't much care for the things he'd paint so he simply avoided the old stylist as much as he could.

Of course all good things must come to an end and so here he was being escorted into the private VIP lounge.

Thankfully there were drinks. Orc started with something blue. He'd always liked the color blue.

Derrick isn't prepared to deal with Orc's skin type yet. But he will be. For the moment he's just going to stare.

"Wow. Cool. Are you like, some kind of superhero? Rockguy? Maybe I should get you a cape."

That almost made Orc laugh and he shook his head "Not a superhero. I'm a monster." Then he decided to correct himself but only because he wasn't too drunk yet. "I was human, but god punished me for killing. There's a woman here who can make me human again but I can't find her."

Best explanation ever.

"That sounds pretty messed up. Do you want to talk about it?"

Zoolander ordered drinks like he's worried the world will end tomorrow. He was also painfully sincere, even when it might seem like he shouldn't be. But he did take Orc's story at face value and assume that everything he said was the truth. What reason did he have to believe otherwise?

Orc blinked slowly, looking puzzled.

"I think I just did. Did I only imagine it?" He wondered but was happy for the drinks.

"I dunno what else to say." He offered a shrug, "I guess I could tell you how it sucks not being able to feel much."

"I thought it might be more of an origin story. Like a super hero movie. That would be totally awesome if you made one after you won the Hunger Games. You could be a double hero."

Derrick was easily distracted by getting drinks. But then, he was easily distracted by a lot of things.

A double hero?

"Wait...you think the guys who win the games are heroes?" The idea seemed almost laughable to the cynical young boy who had lived through a lifetime of misfortune already.

"If you get me pants that aren't made out of skin, there is a much higher chance that I'll wear them instead of disposing of them and stealing stuff from other people."

The pants Lyle was wearing were not leather, but they also clearly weren't made for him. They were dark green and rolled up at the cuffs -- rolled up neatly, but still rolled up. They didn't go at all with the iridescent black dress shirt, black gloves, and silver-on-black waistcoat. He was ignoring the drinks in favor of pawing through the gift bag, opening and sniffing everything and occasionally squinting at the labels.

Nope, all in English. Sprock.

"Other than that, I tend to stick with a black and white color scheme back home. It looks good on me and I don't have to mess around with it too much."

"You would look better with some accent colors, maybe a little red of green to make the black and white stand out."

Derrick doesn't know what to do with pants not made of skin. He can only really picture human skin, and they don't really make clothes out of that. Not even in the Capitol.

"I'll send you some things soon to try on. But for right now just relax and enjoy the party. You've earned it."

This sentient seemed to actually be interested in Lyle's opinion. Lyle eyed him warily. What was his angle?

"Okay, sure." He waggled the gift bag. Time to start working his own angle. "Are any of these fatal if ingested?"

"There might be some Fatalé products in there. It's a really hot brand. Never heard of 'Injested'. Is that popular on your planet?"

Lyle might need to use smaller words with Zoolander, he hasn't heard that phrase before.

Lyle stared at the stylist for a moment, wondering if he was serious or if he was just playing a role.

"Will these make people sick if they eat them?" he clarified. Because Brainy had said that the Capitol had an awful education system, but he hadn't thought it was that awful.

For whatever it was worth, Derrick was always entirely serious. He told terrible jokes, and he could barely lie to himself, let alone anyone else.

"You're not supposed to eat them, they're for your skin. They won't work if you eat them, you don't have skin in your stomach, silly."

Education or not, Zoolander wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. But he was willing to take Lyle's question as a joke. Because why would anyone eat skin cream? That's not what it was for.

Lyle considered for a moment, then shrugged. He'd have Brainy take a look at the labels later; they could work out what chemicals were in them and if there was anything they could do with them aside from smearing them on Lyle's skin.

"Do you know if they were tested on animals?"

Sigma isn't entirely sure why he bothered to accept the invitation. He tries to remind himself it was a gesture to become more sociable, and, in general, a more likeable person to those associated with his district, but the moment he enters the warehouse beads of sweat collect on the back of Sigma's neck. This is not an environment he feels comfortable in, and he finds himself grateful when someone arrives to whisk him away to a more private lounge.

Nervously Sigma pulls up a chair next to his new stylist. There is an awkward silence as the herculean man beholds Derrick, clearly not one for makeup parties or fashion. Sigma passes the gift bag a sidelong look, hoping to discreetly do away with it as soon as he could.

"Ah... No. In fact, I do not intend to stay long. I only wished to introduce myself. My name is Sigma Klim."

He is definitely regretting coming.

This. This will be Derrick's biggest challenge. But he is a top designer, wanted all over the Capitol for his innovative and seemingly effortless style. He can make anything work.

"Hi, I'm Derrick Zoolander. I want to make you look good. If you don't want to stay and have fun, I can come around later and have you try some things on. I'll even find something to make your eye look cooler and less spooky."

He put on his best pout while he appraised Sigma and tried to figure out what he could do with him.

Again Sigma looks uncomfortable, looking about the room as he weighs his options. He supposed it would have to happen eventually, as being prettied up by the Capitol was unfortunately a part of the Tribute's job description. "Hello, Mr. Zoolander. Whatever is easiest for you," he sighs in defeat.

But his last comment has perplexed him. "Pardon me, but isn't... isn't that part of the point?" he questions, trying to gauge this man's intentions. "You said I look 'spooky', I mean. Shouldn't I look intimidating? Or did you have a different approach in mind?" He had a bad feeling about this.

"If you want to look like a mad scientist I can work with that too. But I think it's a good idea to look as good as you can, that way lots of people will want to send you gifts in the arena, right? If you look big and scary they won't want to do nice things for you."

If Sigma really wants to talk Zoolander out of it, it won't be too hard. He's got about as much spine as a jellyfish and he won't fight what his tributes want.

"...Is that right?" This was news to Sigma. He had no insight into Capitol psychology, and supposed he had to trust his new stylist. "I had always assumed it was the strongest and coldest that were the best supported. I suppose my assumptions were wrong, then. So you want to try and spring a cool but friendlier image, is that it?"

As much as he hated the Capitol's obsessions with fashion, he had to admit, he liked the sponsors and what they gave once he was inside the Arena. Every little bit counts.

"Well nothing is scarier than someone who looks good but is also scary."

Derrick nods at his own deep statement. He orders more drinks, not for anyone in particular, but just so everyone had something to choose from.

"I want District 10 to look really good, and you're part of District 10, right?"

Sigma put a hand to his chin and thought about it. Then he dropped his hands to his lab and looked completely defeated. "I can't argue with that. ...Well, I suppose I'll have to trust you," he sighed. "As long as you don't make a fool out of me, there won't be any problems," he said vaguely threateningly. Really, he was teasing, but it felt good to try and joke around with someone again - even and especially if they didn't appreciate the punchline.

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