thecapitol | (no subject)

WHO| Everyone in the Capitol
WHAT| A must attend events, as the game start to come to their peak.
WHEN| Mid-way through week four
WHERE| A warehouse on the edge of town.
WARNING/NOTES| Alcohol, drugs, possible more. Crazy partying. If your tribute is dead this week, it is up to your discretion whether they are there or not (don't worry if you have not in game killed them, we can turn a blind idea to wiggly time lines by a day or two if you wanna jump in)

As usual, the Capitol was tactful and discreet in their party themes.

Nah.

An old warehouse had been converted for this shindig, and filled with bright violet lights that made anything pale glow vividly. Attire among the guest had taken advantage of this; pale, neon colored clothes, many made with transparent layers, and dripping with neon paint. When there were clothes at all. More than a few people had opted to just decorate themselves with paint, glowing vividly under the black lights.

The music was loud, often interwoven with air raid sirens, the place well stocked with florid cocktails treats that seemed to smolder, carried around by avoxes in gas masks. And with the right words, it was more than easy to find anything else you might like.

The couple throwing this party were known for walking just on the edge of acceptable, their parties always pushing taboos. Which made them that much more gossiped about. Still, the faces seen weren't those usually seen rubbing elbows at these things: a younger, wilder crowd.

But the hosts had made sure to drop enough cash in the right hands to be sure, whether it was their scene or not, all their favorite tributes were there.

Large screens showed the games, though often altered in strange, bright glowing colors. In the center was a large sculpture, filled through with it own bright green iridescent fluid, rolling around in a hypnotic, phosphorescent patterns, turning all those near is a vivid, toxic green.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Unfortunately, Eponine was not one of them.

It was him. HIM. The man who had murdered her.
Except - he wasn't a man at all. Well, he was. But he was barely older than she was. Still. Eponine felt a surge of anger clutch at her, and she pushed her way through the crowd. She would recognise that boy anywhere. He was the last thing she had seen before she died.

She pushed her way roughly through the crowd, earning more than a few complaints, and more than a few unwelcome pinches and gropes from random Capitol citizens eager to touch a part of the Games. But she didn't stop until she was behind Draco. She opened her mouth and yelled as loudly as she could,

"YOU!"

He was fairly certain that everyone he ran into that night was destined to be obnoxious.

Draco barely even recognised Eponine, or the sound of her voice when it suddenly tore through the sound of the music and accompanying sirens. But it was more than a little loud, and judging by the proximity, he didn't doubt for more than a second or two that it was directed at him.

He whirled, sneering in what was actually surprise before stepping back a little. "Pardon me?"

Her expression hardened as she moved closer still to Draco.

"You do not remember me, M'sieur? Perhaps it would help if you had a knife to my neck and my arms twisted up. Or perhaps you would remember more if I kicked you again."

She loathed this boy. Man. It was an unusual feeling for Eponine to hate someone that much. Usually, she tried to push it to the back of her mind, and not dwell on slights and injustices. But her murder at Draco's hands was still raw, and Eponine didn't really know what to do about her pent up emotions. Grief about being pulled from home, grief about Marius, her fear of her father - what she was to do for the rest of her life in Paris - it all mingled in with her upset about her death, making her volatile. And he - he had killed her, made her cough blood and die in a heap on the floor.

"Did you enjoy the bread I took?"

He had only the vaguest idea of what she was talking about, most of the Arena remaining a blur in his mind. It wasn't quite like Obliviation (or what he imagined Obliviation to be like), since he still knew what had happened, but he couldn't remember the details of it. He'd been too feverish.

All Draco knew was that he'd killed some girl - why, he didn't know - and it had been surprisingly easy. That, in and of itself, was a tad frightening to him, but this was hardly the place. This was a party, and obviously this girl - a fellow Tribute, no doubt - was rather lacking as far as manners went. Judging by her words, she'd been the one he killed, too.

How appropriate.

"Did no one ever tell you not to make a scene? Your mother, perhaps? Honestly, your manners leave something to be desired," he replied, stifling his growing unease at her accusations, opting instead for treating her as inferior. Because that was so much better.

Make a scene?

He killed her? And now HE was commenting on her manners?

That was quite enough for Eponine; she made to shove Draco as hard as she could.
"Don't you talk about my manners or my Mama. She taught me plenty. You KILLED ME. You stuck a knife in my throat. And you talk of my manners. You have no right to do that."

He stumbled back at the shove, nearly bumping into another dancer just behind them, a brightly-painted girl who wasn't at all bothered - she just went on dancing as Draco grabbed her arms belatedly, gripping them tight as he pulled her close. To anyone not paying attention, it might have merely read as simply a pair dancing closely. "I'm not sure if you've quite grasped the notion of this little game they have us playing. If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else, and I was torn apart by that-"

There, he gestured upwards to the screen, where Don's mutated form was visible, tearing into yet another Tribute.

"So tell me now, are you still going to be a petty little bitch about things every time someone kills you? I assure you, mademoiselle, it's not going to go very well for you."

Eponine tried to jerk her arms free from Draco's as soon as he grabbed her close. The sight of the - thing - on the screen eating the Tribute made Eponine feel sick to her very core.

"What is that thing?"

Her face hardened. "You deserved it, M'sieur. You did not even give me a chance to fight. You just killed me."

When he called her a bitch, she stamped as hard as she could on his feet. She was only wearing dolly shoes, though, so it wouldn't hurt too much.
"Do not call me that, M'sieur. There are things I could call you, but I do not. You talk of manners, and you have none. You are not a gentleman."

"That would be one of your fellow Tributes."

He rolled his eyes, pushing her away a little by way of release, though it didn't much save his foot from being stomped on. And people said that he was a drama queen; he stifled the flinch, biting down on the inside of his lip, as he sneered down his nose at her. It wasn't that Draco didn't feel bad about killing a person at all, but more that it was her. She was annoying, to put it mildly.

"Not to petty little girls, I'm not. You haven't done anything to deserve my respect in the slightest," he told her, stepping back again to put as much distance as he could between them. He'd be making an escape back into the crowd as soon as he could, hopefully finding Effie and explaining that he was feeling ill, he was going back to the rooms. After all, Draco was dead sure his mother wouldn't be at all put out by this performance of his, dwarfed by that performance of hers.

"I am not a little girl. I am a woman."

That man was horrible, Eponine decided. One of those who would always look down on her because she was scruffy and poor, and still underfed. Even the Capitol couldn't mask that hungry, almost desperate look in her eyes.

"You are a horrible man. I hope your death really, really hurt. And I will tell you now, M'sieur, you will not find me in the next arena. I will not play, and you will NOT kill me again."

"I can't tell," he told her dryly, rolling his eyes, taking another step back before shrugging lightly, shooting her an almost innocent - if somewhat cruel - smirk. They'd attracted a few pairs of eyes by now, a little unwanted attention, and Draco planned on charming his way in with some of the younger sponsors before the party became a complete waste.

"And you don't have a choice in the matter. So best of luck trying to get yourself out."

That said, he turned on his heel, and slid away through the crowd, determined to get away from her before she injured him and his pride further. He'd enjoy seeing her in the Arena again, if for no other reason than the fact that he wanted to see how she died next time.