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 wasn't about to leave this peculiar man alone. She was almost certain she had located a bulge in those tight pants, and she was moving closer, using the other party goers as cover so that she could try to slip her hand into his pants and grab the money.

Touching him was the mistake.

Granted, the ghost-like brush along his hip wasn't nearly as brazin' as some of the gropes he'd had at these things, but that's really what made it stand out. This wasn't some drunk Citizen havin' a grand ol' time, this was someone up to somethin'.

And Wyatt was never so preoccupied, never so tired, as to miss something as blatant as that.

He wasn't a U.S. Marshal for nothin' after all.

Like a striking snake, his hand moved, unfolding from his chest and snapping down in the same fluid, graceful movement that had made him one of the best guns in the West. Only this time, he wasn't grabbin' his six-shooter.

Eponine had tried to withdraw her hand as soon as she knew that Wyatt had felt something. And though Eponine's reactions were quick, Wyatt was quicker. and he grabbed hard onto her arm.

"M'SIEUR. LET GO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

She yells because of the music, so that he'll hear her. Of course, trying to feign ignorance - to pass her hand being in his pocket off as a mistake on his part - is the best way to handle this.

Holding tight, he tugged, pulling her closer so he wouldn't have to yell back at her.

"I might ask you the same, girl."

Looking down at her, hard-blue eyes sized her up. Young, small, accent... decidedly not Capitol. She had tribute written all over her. Another one with sticky fingers.

"You often go 'round stickin' your hands in other people's pockets?"

Eponine stuck her chin up, glaring right back at the Marshall.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mister. You better let go right now or I'll scream and then everyone will look at us. And you do not want that, do you, Mister?"

He snorted. Somehow he doubted any of these folks would even blink.

"You'd think havin' to kill each other would be enough."

Normally he might have settled for discouragement, the way he had with Neeshka in the arena, but tonight? Tonight he was just... disgusted.

At her. At himself. At everything.

He flung her hand away. "Go find a citizen to play with."

"Kill each -You're one of US?"

That comes as a shock. Considering the way the man was dressed, Eponine has been sure he was a citizen there.

"I'm sorry, M'sieur. I thought -"

And as he flings her hand, she nods. "I'm sorry, M'sieur. Honest."

He stared at her, watched her eyes widen and her face fall, and finally, after a long moment, he softened, albeit with a long suffering sigh.

Reaching out, he touched her again, his palm resting lightly but warmly on her shoulder. "Listen, girl. You wanna give the capitol folks what for, you won't hear any complaint from me, but make sure you know who you're gettin' a hold of. The stylists try their damnedest to make us look like them."

She had been avoiding her stylist after some of the dresses she had shown Eponine. Eponine thought they looked like whores' dresses, though on the whole, less ripped.

She looked back as Wyatt touched her again.

"I just want some money for when they get bored of me and let me go home, M'sieur. And these people have it to spare. And they use it to kill us. M'sieur. It isn't right. I will be more careful, though. I really am sorry."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that if when they were done with her, they'd probably wouldn't bother sending her home.

"You're forgiven," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "Now go'on, be a good girl an' stay out of trouble."