thecapitol | (no subject)

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(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.

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The blue eyes moved first, sliding to give young man a once-over from the corners, then, apparently deciding the boy was worth the effort, the rest of the head turned as well.

Recognition was slower for Wyatt, but it was there, swimming up from the back of his mind.

The boy with the bird. The one he'd let go.

Who had apparently died anyway.

"They've done worse," he replied simply. His eyes flicked up and down over him. "You look a might cold yerself."

"A little, yeah," he concedes. The Capitol has been pumping him full of food - which he's incredibly grateful for - but he's still skinny and frail and, unfortunately, easily chilled. He wraps his arms around himself. At least the bustle of the club is warmer than outside.

"Well, the Capitol tried to send me just naked and covered in body paint. That's the only thing I really put my foot down on." His eyes are searching Wyatt's face, wondering if what happened is going to pass unsaid between them. "I think I saw someone with a hat that had to be stapled to their head on the way in. I don't get fashion at all."

"I don't think yer supposed to," Wyatt remarked, glancing around that those closest with a raised eyebrow. "And I'm not sure I'd want to neither."

He watched a woman wobble by, teetering on impossible high heels like a freshly dropped calf still tryin' to find its legs, and shook his head.

With a heavy exhale he looked back at the boy. "So, what's your name then, son?"

Funny to think what had happened and he didn't even know his name.

His fingertips in his jacket stroke and pull at the fabric of the sleeve, like a kitten kneading a blanket. Something tactile to do.

"Howard." Which, as a normal, old-fashioned name, seems a little out of place in this world. "And um...I guess I should know yours, too."

He's not expecting Wyatt to be an ally in the next arena. That wasn't really the terms they parted on. But if you're going to thank someone for not killing you for taking their food, you should probably know their name.

Now strange at all to Wyatt.

He extended a large, calloused hand to Howard for a firm shaking - one man to another. "Wyatt Earp."

"Where were you from?" Howard glances around at the people in the room. He takes Wyatt's hand, but looks like he isn't entirely comfortable with contact. "Before all this?"

Wyatt noticed the boy's discomfort and took his hand back sooner than he might have otherwise. He hooked both hands into his belt, trying to look as non-threatening as possible in case he was him in particular, and not the space in general, that the kid has an issue with.

"Dodge City, Kansas. Yerself?"

"Perdido Beach, California. Fallout Alley Youth Zone." Not that that should mean anything to Wyatt, he thinks, since even if the giant electric bubble that took over his hometown was on Wyatt's version of the news, he's pretty sure the name he gave it is only popular inside the dome.

"Which is way worse than here, and a little better than the Arena, I guess. But not much."

California, Wyatt recognized, but the rest... not so much.

Howard, he reckoned, had to be yet another that was from after his time. Much, much, after.

"I'll admit that's not somethin' I recognize, and I'd hazard to guess that says California means something different to the both of us, but I'll take your word for it, son."

"What's it mean to you? It's a state by the Pacific Ocean to me." The subject of plenty of school reports when he was in fourth grade - the only thing he remembers is something about missions, and a gold rush that happened at some point. "Does everyone from Kansas talk like you?"

It's a stupid question, and one that he realizes sounds either naive or insensitive or both out of his mouth, but somehow this feels important, establishing some sense of normalcy. Better to talk about silly things like accents and hometowns than dying, than the arena.

Because what's on the tip of his tongue is thank you, and, I'm sorry you died too.

For his part, Wyatt just snorted - an amused sort of sound - and shook his head. He's actually gettin' kind of used to this.

"Well, I suppose that depends on whether your askin' about my Kansas, or yers. See, son, I'm from 1878. So I can't speak for happened after me, but for the time I was there... there may have been a few with a bit more talent in their tongues," that Holliday fella came to mind, but he'd been a doctor and Wyatt supposed that was to be expected from a man with so much schoolin', "But, yeah, I reckon most just made due with they got."

His head tipped. "As to yer other question: California, back home, was still pretty new. We'd just won her in the war not all that long ago, and the railroad through had just opened up. Before that, you were lookin' at months of travel, by wagon or horseback, through all kinds of wild terrority."

Edited 2012-12-19 10:30 (UTC)

Howard blinks. He's gotten used to the idea that people here are from different places, some of which don't seem to be in contact with each other, but different times is something a little harder to absorb. For a moment he almost looks dizzy, as if trying so hard to process this new inform and integrate it into what he knows that he's stopped focusing on what's right in front of him.

"Ah."

None of this makes any sense. He bites his lip and runs his tongue over his teeth.

"So I guess if I start making jokes about how we beat Russia to the moon, they're going to fly over your head. No pun intended."

Then he adds, "I've never left California", as if to explain why he assumed 1800's was just normal Kansan behavior.

Wyatt's expression softened into something sympathetic.

Until now. The boy had never left home until they'd brought him here. Of all places.

He shook his head, an almost sad gesture. "That's a shame. There's a lot of beautiful country out there. Miles and miles of wide open space and clear skies." He paused. "Or at least there used to be."

Truth be told it was one of the things he missed most. The ability to just - go - whenever he pleased. To just climb in the saddle and ride, the wind in his face, the sun on his back.

"I haven't had any time to look up the history of this place. I just..." Died. "I just got here a few hours ago."

Sick and feverish and hallucinating, seizing to death, only to wake up healthy and well here. He looks almost confused at Wyatt's reaction, as if surprised still to see any sympathy here.

"Civilization kind of went bust a hundred and something years after your time. I miss wide open spaces, though. Lived in a big bubble back home."

Wyatt gave a small, commiserating sort of nod. He was, afterall, just out of the arena himself.

"Seems a lot of things went wrong along the way," he replied with a heavy exhale. "When I first got here, I wondered how all this coulda happened, how we coulda changed so much..." He looked up at the screens, mouth thinning. "Anymore I'm not sure I really wanna know."

"It's not all bad. We figured out cell phones and iPods. Those are pretty cool." Besides, Howard's pretty sure he wouldn't have many rights back in Wyatt's time period. "But..."

He looks around them at the partying people. "I guess they seem happy."

Wyatt shook his head, disgusted.

"I'm sure they are, that's what makes it all so wrong."

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