thecapitol | (no subject)

WHO| EVERYONE
WHAT| Effie is throwing a small scale party for just the tributes.
WHERE| The District 12 suite.
WHEN| Christmas
WARNINGS/NOTES| Secret Santa's are under the cut. Feel free to tag in whether you signed up for secret santa or not.

Effie had tried very hard to make this a party that was actually made for the tributes, not made to show them off.

She had tried very, very hard.

The food was what she had been able to investigate as “home” cooking for those she could track down, an odd arrangement of food that sometimes got close to the tributes home food, and sometimes was a terrible disaster. Blood pudding, for example, was a dish best avoided. But then it usually was.

The best hits reel had been her idea. It took a tense conversation with Haymitch and about 45 minutes to convince her that now, that wasn’t really what any Tribute wanted to see when they were trying to relax.

After that the party was much nicer, mellow music, holiday cheer and, for a holiday party, fairly low key. Lorne had karoke going in one room, while another had a large glittering Christmas tree and mellow music playing, with the District 12 windows wide open to show the snow covered city underneath.

Eliot-Neeshka
Kevin-Lottie
Valeria-Tony
Momoko-Draco
Alpha-Anna
Cinna-Momoko
Epoinine-Alpha
Alex-Jade
Jade-Ariadne
Neeshka-Eliot
Anna-Valeria
Lindsey-Glinda
Glinda-Annie
Ariadne-cinna
Elliot-Alex
Lottie- Eponine
Annie-Jade
Tony-Glinda
Shepard-Lindsey
Draco-Kevin

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Chris was still trying to get used to EVERYTHING. He had been around some of the high society circles in Raccoon, dragged in in monkey suits if the police needed more security, but well at least here it was just mostly the people he had been in the arena with.

Even though it was low key, knowing Wesker was about didn't really put the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. operative at ease, even though currently he was shaking his head wondering who he should talk to about how to make a burger, because the thing served in a bun that looked like a hamburger, really wasn't. At least the fries seemed about right, even though they were sweet potatoes and not the classic spud.

Nearby, his eyes closed as he slowly chewed, Wyatt almost appeared to be praying as he ate.

It wasn't so much that it tasted bad - the biscuits looked more like cow-chips than the fluffy, buttery ones he used too, but he'd eaten worse - as what it made him feel.

(He'd never thought there'd come a day when his food gave him feelings, but here he was.)

Sad, as it reminded him of home; angry that he couldn't be there; and strangely touched that anyone had even bothered to look into where he'd come from.

Fork slowly turning in his hand, he sat with his head bowed, his jaw working, the old tear in the side of his hat gaping across at Chris.

Chris watched him a moment. "You okay?" He didn't mean to pry, but the guy was upset.

Leave it to Chris to want to make sure things were okay with the others he was trapped in this backwards hell with.

The chewing stopped, the hatted head coming up as the eyes opened.

It took a moment, but Wyatt eventually figured out who had spoken, his blue eyes landing on Chris.

His jaw worked quickly, Adam's apple lurching as he swallowed thickly.

"No," he replied honestly. But a heartbeat later his mouth twitched, the corner turning up. "But that's par the course here."

"I'm getting that," Chris agreed. "It's like all the worst of basic without any of the good." He held out his hand. "'m Chris."

Like so many things, Wyatt had no understanding of what 'basic' was supposed to be, but he was gettin' real good at lettin' little things slide.

At least until he knew folks well enough to ask anyways.

He leaned over, taking Chris' offered hand with his own. Firm and callused, a confident grip.

"Wyatt," he introduced himself. "Wyatt Earp."

Chris had to grin a little. "Have to ask, real deal? Or your parents name you after the cowboy?" The hat and well whole outfit had him wondering.

That sort of question still bothered Wyatt a bit - the idea that he was famous for things he hadn't yet done (not least of all as he hadn't been able to figure what those things were, and he had tried after that Alpha fellow) - but he couldn't exactly deny it.

"I was named after an officer my father served under during the war with Mexico," he said, steely eyes studying Chris' face before removing his hand and turning back to his plate, cutting a biscuit with his fork. "And I wasn't a cowboy. Before they brought me here I was a U.S. Marshal in Dodge City."

"See that's where the history books where I'm from mess up, they tend to say anyone who wasn't Native American was a cowboy back then. U.S. Marshals and Texas Rangers included."

"I was S.T.A.R.S., it's a unit mostly made up of ex military that deal with situation the police can't back home."

"Funny how things like that change... back home a cowboy was the worst of the worst. Thieves and murderers, encouragin' trouble wherever they went. Now they say it's a good thing."

He wasn't particularly offended, not anymore, and he didn't appear disgrunted. Just sort of tired.

"I try not to take it personal."

Edited 2013-01-07 17:03 (UTC)

"Where I'm from they're mostly farmers, good ol' boys that you can rely on when you need some back up." Forest had been one, well, at least he always tried to act like one when they were bar hopping.

"Hey I get it."

He took a moment to fork another bite of gravy soaked (easier on the jaw that way) biscuit into his mouth and chewed slowly before looking back over.

"So, Mr. Redfield, where is it exactly that yer from? Or when, if need be?"

Chris popped another fry into his mouth. "Raccoon City, just East of the Rockies, USA." Well the mountains were close at least. "1998," He remembered the when bit.

"Though originally my family's from the mid west."

"1998, huh?" He smiled a little, doing the math slowly in his head. "That gives me about - a hundred years on ya, give or take."

Which probably explained why he had no recollection of a city named after an oversized rodent.

"Don't expect me to be calling you 'Old Man'." Chris flashed him a grin. "You don't look that much older than I am."

Wyatt looked at him consideringly, his eyes moving up and down.

"Twenty-seven, you?" a smiled played around his mouth as well, his eyebrow lifting in friendly challenge.

"Twenty-five," Chris had to laugh, "Maybe you are the old man."

Of course Chris was joking around, but got Wyatt to grin so he'd take it as a good thing. "I'll spare getting you a walker just yet though."

A beat passed.

"What's a walker?"

It sounded like a joke, but he honestly had no idea.

Chris shook his head a moment at the comment. "It's a device that helps the elderly walk. Makes em a pain to be stuck behind when you're late for meetings or catching the plane."

Chris figured he might have to teach Wyatt a little about the future, but he'd do it slowly, and just the fun stuff.

Wyatt laughed, a rough bark of a sound. "So a cane then. Why didn't ya just say that?"

"Because it's a little more than a cane. It's four in one with wheels. They just lift the back end up and scoot it. I'd be more worried about canes, little old ladies can be dangerous with those." Oh plenty of hits from said members of society when he was trying to help them... And really why do they ALWAYS go for the knee caps!