thecapitol | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(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

Ignorance is bliss... Eponine just hasn't clicked onto the slang yet. She hugs her arms to her waist. At least they feed her here.

"A man..."
She shrugs, her hand going to her throat.
"It is no matter, I suppose. It is done."

It does matter and it's rankling, deep down inside of her. Draco better watch it because she was going to explode and yell at him.

"It was my first time too. But really, it is better here, no? They feed you and such clothes - and these baths - as often as you like. I used to bathe in the river sometimes when Papa sold our tub - but it is cold and either you must wear your clothes and have nothing dry, or go unclothed so people stare and shout but there is a dry thing to put on when you're done."

"Infection, for me. Not like I came in in prime health." There's a distant look to his face when he says that - it's still too keen, too painful a memory, lying there sweating and shivering, rocked by seizures, not even cognizant to the moment it happened. But he waves a hand as if brushing it away. Like her, he doesn't want to dwell on it.

Nor is he quite sure how to respond to this woman he just met talking about how she used to go around naked in the river. Not that he didn't bathe nude in the ocean in the FAYZ, but he always did so under the cover of nightfall, like most of the other kids. Modesty was one of the few 'normal' things they clung to.

"Way better," he agrees. He doesn't begrudge the citizens their decadence, only their participation in the games. Given the option, he'd be just like them, soaking up the indulgences while letting kidnapped victims kill each other. He can't imagine watching it for enjoyment - he's seen too much death - but he also can't imagine caring enough to want to end it, if he weren't caught in it. "I'm planning on someday buying pants I can keep up without a belt, at the rate they're feeding us."

He didn't eat his first capitol meal so much as store it and hoard it in his bed, checking on it every twenty seconds to remind himself it was real. He'd eaten himself sick on the second meal, when it became apparent that he didn't need to save it all.

What is the point of hoarding? Best eat straight away before someone takes it away or changes their mind or the rats get it. Eponine had eaten so much she was sick - and had eaten again straight after. She was well on her way to becoming healthy; medics had even fixed her cough, restored her teeth, got rid of premature signs of aging. Nobody wanted an ugly tribute, did they?

"I will not try next time, I don't think..."
Eponine's musing.
"People have been sent in over and over butI do not understand why they keep fighting. It is better here. I'm going to let someone kill me so I can come back here. If my friend from home was here - his friend would make people see. And then none of us would fight and we could be Capitol people.

"That's what I've been considering, too, but...we're supposed to entertain them, right? They might not keep bringing us back if they get bored of us. Swap us for someone sexy and dangerous." What baffles Howard most is why people like him and Eponine were chosen in the first place. Maybe they're supposed to be the puppies people use in dog-fighting, there to get the stronger competitors all riled up and bloodthirsty.

The idea makes him feel sick.

"Or we'd all be dead for keepsies." He's heard it's permanent, out here. No one bothers to revive you if you don't die on camera.

"I don't care what we're supposed to do. I don't want to keep fighting. I can't fight."

Eponine sighs. The same thought has occurred to her, though not really concerning Howard.

"I am good at other things, though." She adds that last bit just loud enough for surrounding Capitol citizens evesdropping on their conversation to hear. Just in case someone wanted to support her.

"I could have lasted longer, though. I'm stronger than I look. And if that man hadn't killed me, I'd still be there now. Did they give you scores and districts to follow?"

"Good for you, then. I'm not dying for good, so I'll do whatever they need me to do. They say jump, I get a trampoline," he says darkly. At least until he figures out how to make good on this situation on his own terms, but he doubts that'll ever happen.

He catches her raising her voice, though. Smart girl. He kind of likes her already - two cast-off scrappers swimming in this ocean of opulence. She isn't going to any efforts to be sweet and sterile, either, which he appreciates.

"Yeah, district one, score of five because I'm good with my hands. And, I don't know, maybe they're placing their bets that when I put some weight back on I'll be able to arm wrestle an eight year-old girl without breaking my wrist." He doesn't know if he believes Eponine's strong, but he thinks she can probably fight viciously, if backed into a corner, if not adeptly.

"What is a trampoline?" Probably the least of either of their concerns right now, but Eponine isn't to know that.

If Eponine knew how much Howard had chucked away; that he'd chosen to live on the streets out of some sort of rebellion, she'd be upset. She would have given anything to live in a nice house with a nice family and go to school and wear lovely clothes. And instead, she was barefoot in the middle of winter, roaming the streets in tatters, thieving and robbing on the whim of her father, and worse, when he made her. She would have done a lot for Howard's life. Perhaps best that she doesn't know. Any sympathy she might have would be gone completely.

"That is a good score, I think... do they put children into the arena then?"

She doesn't want to share her measly score; they gave her a three because she had tried to steal their food and had injured herself in the process. Given half a chance, she could jab and poke with a knife, but fight tooth and nail with her bare hands. She is an alley cat, after all.

"Something that makes you jump."

Howard didn't choose the FAYZ. It's true that he might have wanted a more interesting life than that of an average middle-class junior high kid, but he could not have desired or even predicted the total collapse of society that happened pretty much overnight. The adults abandoned their children, and then plagues, fires, mobs, starvation, cannibalism. Howard's world had turned itself upside down in a way that made shoplifting electronics and smoking behind the school just treasured memories from a happier time.

He might have even envied Eponine for having time to adjust.

"I guess. I'm fifteen, I don't know if that still counts as a kid. I'm a freaking town elder where I'm from." A five is a perfect score, as far as he's concerned. Not so low as to be a target, not so high as to place him with people who'll see him as immediate competition.

"Don't know how old I am. Maybe a little older..."
Eponine tries to think, but the thumping music makes it hard. "What the hell. It's all the same, is it not? I meant young children, like the eight year old you spoke of. That is too young, I think."

Capitol people are leering at both Eponine and Howard, so Eponine makes sure she keeps her eyes fixed firmly on Howard, or on the ground. She knows that look, and she doesn't want to invite any of them to start a conversation.

"They look so funny, don't they?"

"Oh, no. I didn't see any eight year-olds. I was joking, you know, since I'm pretty weak." He lowers his voice then. It may be evident from just looking at him, but he doesn't want to confirm it for the sponsors. But he doesn't agree with Eponine that eight is 'too young'. Having seen eight year-olds murder each other back home, he doesn't hold childhood in any sanctity.

He looks around at the citizens, their gaudy colors, their tacky makeup. "They look like clowns."

"Are you?"

He looks normal to her. Skinny and underfed, but then, so was she, and she knew she was strong enough to survive. Except, you know, unarmed against a man with a knife...

"That is good. The real world is bad enough for them without them having to do such things as these people want us to do."

She laughs, chancing a glance at the strange people. "Yes. They have so much make up and odd bits stuck onto them. I wonder why someone would wish to look like that. Me, I am happy with these."

She picks at her skirt and blouse. The skirt's held up with a wide brown belt, similar to what she had worn at home, albeit less tatty.

"You know, these are the first new clothes I have had in forever. Except maybe the trousers and coat they dressed us in for the arena."

"Weak doesn't mean helpless." He did get a higher score than her, after all. Then again, they both died anyway.

He tugs at his own jacket and the too-tight pants. Once the FAYZ started, he'd gone looting, along with plenty of the other kids, so clothing was one of things he had not in short supply back home.

But in the arena, he stole clothing off a dying woman, because he was cold. He tells himself he had to do it, but it's taken all the sheen out of owning clothing at all. It's sickening.

"Good for you. If they lift you up to be one of those Capitol darlings like them, they'll want you to dress goofy, though. Your stylist will be putting you in lobster clothing and glitter before long, I bet."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only