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

"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.