In here it feels like Battle Royale meets the Truman Show [OPEN]

[arrogantalloy]

WHO| Everyone not in the mini-arena
WHAT| Not all the tributes are in this little event, but that doesn't mean they can't see what's going on.
WHEN| During the mini-arena
WHERE| Tesserae
WARNINGS| They're watching the arena, there may be talk of gore/dismemberment/death.

Tesserae is always at its liveliest when there is an arena full of tributes to mame. Mini-arenas unsurprisingly bring in more, mostly due to the fact that there are tributes that aren't in this arena and some tend to gravitate towards Tesserae to watch the proceedings.

Today was showing to be good for business with many people, citizens and tributes alike where in watching or making an obvious attempt to not watch while occasionally sneaking glances.

Anyone who comes in can see there's always space at the bar and the tables never seem to be occupied for too long before moving to somewhere else to get a better view of the expected carnage.

Comments

What a shock he's at the bar.

[arrogantalloy]

Tony didn't really want to watch this arena, there were a number of people he knew in there and several of them he actually liked. Because of this, Tony had found his way to Tesserae long before the countdown began.

Right now he's taking it easy with a rum and cola in his hand, getting an inkling what was in his glass would get harder as the event went on.

As the numbers counted down, Tony's eyes traveled to one of the many screens and he took in the scene as citizens around him counted down with the voice on screen.

"Is it bad this is still going to be better than the movie?"

He asked no one in particular before taking a drink as he watches the screen for faces he knew.

faints in shock

[arosewiththorns]

"I'm expecting at least two renditions of the bow scene." Rose snarks, even as she sidles up to the bar and fuck. She could use a drink. There were always days, here and there, when the urge came to her. Being here is a temptation too, but here has the best screens. Hear she can't public freak out, something that she needs right now.

And even when she glances to Tony, it's just for a second, Rose looking back to the screens for two familiar blonde heads. Still, she tries to act as if she isn't so very concerned, tapping her fingers on the counter as she order a virgin ice tea.

Offers smelling salts

[arrogantalloy]

Tony grins as she appears.

"I'm personally going to be disappointed if there's no time for anyone to be painted like those French girls."

Ah, nothing like creating humour to deflect the fact the people are about to die. At least it's one of Tony's specialties.

"So, who are you drinking to miss out there?"

Thank. I need my fainting couch

[arosewiththorns]

"I'd be curious more so about the sort of interpretations we'd get from that. I'm familiar with some of the artistic talents." And now she's disappointed that she hasn't yet seen a Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff interpretation of that iconic scene.

Her drink comes quick enough, and apparently there's more waitstaff on than usual. and Rose knows why of course. So she takes a long drink, a little mournful that there isn't any alcohol in it. It's not the same, but she uses it to buy time to consider Tony's question.

"Family," she says finally, because it's as vague as she can be, Rose still unsure how clear she should make the connection with her and the Striders. She finding herself getting into some things, and while Bro can handle himself... Dave is still a kid, really.

The fact that he's her weakest link is something she ignores, Rose nodding sharply as if to punctuate her words.

[arrogantalloy]

"Finger painting would be interesting in more ways than one."

He takes a drink while she contemplates, looking up to a screen as the game begins, his eyes drawing to Steve making a beeline for something. Or someone, possibly Clementine. He looks back at Rose as she replies.

"Family? Well that's... Huh. I'm going to say, hard?"

[earthborn]

It's impossible not to watch, but that doesn't mean she has to do it sober; when he bellies up to the bar, she's already there, pouring something alarmingly blue into something alarmingly pink. The result is a line of neon purple shots that probably don't taste like grape. She's grateful for the interruption, it allows her to glance away from the countdown and take one of those shots to fortify against the inevitable.

"What..." She's still stumbling over his archaic terminology and has to pause, mentally substituting for 'vif', "...What movie?"

It's been more than a hundred years since Leonardo DeCaprio drew breath, and the memory of the real Titanic faded into obscurity long before the film version did. Even if it hadn't, Shepard is unlikely to have learned about it in the first place.

[arrogantalloy]

His head slips towards her and raises an eyebrow at what's lined up in front of her before drinking his own concoction.

"Titanic. The movie took longer to watch than the actual ship the movie was about took to sink after it hit the iceberg. Second highest grossing movie of all time from my world, so take that how you will. Still didn't get DeCaprio his oscar."

[earthborn]

"Yeah, I'm not familiar with that one. But I sat through about four hours of Elcor Hamlet once, so..." Critical darling, praised far and wide, the ultimate in boredom chique, "Best nap I ever had. Not so sure about this, though."

Really gonna be hard to watch.

"You, uh...rooting for anyone in particular?"

[arrogantalloy]

Tony contemplates her for a moment, yeah she really doesn't seem like someone who could sit through productions, especially something along the lines of shakespeare. She's far too active for that.

Not that Tony would sit through it all that willingly either. He looks back at the screen as she brings up this arena isn't really something to nap through, and at her question he sniffs indifferently.

"Is there really a point to 'root' for anyone in there?" He answers sarcastically, after all he was there to watch Steve, or at least try too. Though despite Steve's constant assertions that they're a team, Tony still doesn't want people to know he might actually care about people who aren't him, here.

Open;

[arosewiththorns]

This is probably the worse place for Rose to be, what with it's easy access to alcohol and the lack of supervision she's under. Add in a dash of family concern and you have a perfect blend of potential disaster.

So far she's doing ok, sticking stubbornly to her own little booth, a half drunk and long forgotten ice tea before her. The countdown's done, the game's start and the explosion happens in seconds and even though she tries not to let it happen her breath catches in her throat, fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. Everyone around her is forgotten as she glances quickly from screen to screen, expression tight as she tries to spot a Strider in all the chaos. No one else matters, and those who interrupt may find themselves getting snapped at.

open;

[milieus]

Mrs. Blackwood is looking lovely as always, perched at a table near to a viewing screen. A glass of red wine in hand, she makes no attempts to disguise that she is watching the arena with great interest, paying very little mind to the goings-on of the party. Every so often, a waitperson attempts to take another order, or some casual acquaintance comes by to make chatter, but she quickly seems to make them disappear. The arena holds her interest like nothing else can.

Slowly, she takes a sip from her glass and sets in on the table. On the screen, the Tributes shout and scream, and some of them start to go under. It's morbid and horrifying, but Jennifer cannot look away.

[reallynow]

Trey is looking less lovely than usual, having kept out of drag for the back and forth he knew he'd be making today. He breezes into the bar with an exaggerated and tired sigh, making a beeline for Jennifer the moment he sees her and dipping to sit at her table without so much as a hello.

"I don't get paid enough for this." He moans, clicking a waiter over to make an order and folding his arms over the table. "What'd I miss?"

[milieus]

She almost doesn't recognize him, it's been so long since she's seen him out of a fashionable frock, and so she does a bit of a double take. Slowly, she gives him a smile.

"Oh, darling, you haven't missed much. It looks like the first batch of them are about to drown." She averts her gaze from the screen now. "Are those your gowns their sinking in?"

[reallynow]

Double takes are nothing Trey isn't used to, so he's more amused than anything. He can attest it to his ability to paint and pad flawlessly when he looks under dressed out of drag.

He can't help flicking his eyes up to the screen, his mouth scrunching to the side as it shows some familiar faces.

"Nah, I didn't get any ladies this time. The best fitted suits will be mine, though." He forces a grin. "What a waste of nice fabric, ain't gonna salvage that."

[milieus]

"What a shame," she said, though it wasn't clear if she was referring to the wasted fabric or to the wasted lives on the screens above them. "At least you may get some good buzz about your men's wear. It's always nice to expand into a new market."

open;

[parenthetically]

It wasn't necessarily that Buddy Glass disliked the Games as a whole, it was more that he found it, honestly, slightly disinteresting. Narratively speaking, anyway. As such, he only kept up a certain, suitably professional and certainly mild disinterested observance as the festivities (for lack of a much better term) kicked off. He hummed lightly over his scotch and soda, extracted a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his grey flannel two-button jacket and watched the lights dance across the screen. He tapped out a (slightly crushed) cigarette from the pack and then mentally bemoaned the indoor smoking policies of the Capitol, reinserted it with a sigh and and returned to staring blankly at one of the many screens that dominated the décor of the bar area.

The good thing about the mini-Arenas were that they didn't last. The bad thing is that any interpersonal drama that had the potential of developing in them was cut severely short by deus ex machina style interventions from the Gamemakers. Outside of personal investment in individual Tributes (of which he could muster none), there was almost nothing to drag the viewer in and get them hooked. Reality TV required edits (severe edits) to make it worth anything. Live, there was nothing to be salvaged, no scrap of plot or witty repartee to be inserted and coaxed, crash carted, or chaperoned along.

Still, the lights danced hypnotically across the screen, grabbing attention if not true interest. The ice was melting rapidly in his glass, watering down the already blessedly watery drink. The patrons were rambunctious (to say the least), but the dull roar almost helped him cease to think entirely and concentrate blankly on the action. There was a ship, water, not a dingy on a lake, but a massive (truly) ship. He wasn't, by nature, the nautical type and could only recall vaguely the feeling of Seymour's rubber-backed underwater goggles in his hands as a teenager. It make things difficult to accept on a visceral level, the story was moving from the realm of relativity into the realm of complete fantasy. This would be an exceptionally long mini-Arena.

[confidentially]

Jessica, naturally, disliked the mini-arenas. Every shred of her soul had already been ripped apart due to the events of the last month or so, and she was more or less emotionally checked out. But she still had an obligation to play her part and attend the stupid, vapid social functions, and so, here she was, clad in a tiny red dress with her hair wound up into big, bouncy curls. Her stylists had done their best to make her look less like a grieving widow and more like the vivacious party girl she had been before, but to no real avail. Even with her make-up and finery, she looked miserable. Her only consolation was the glass of vodka which seemed to magically refill itself every time she took more than one sip of it.

She couldn't even stand to look at the screens. Instead, her green eyes were fixed on the glass before her as she slowly reached to drink it.

[parenthetically]

She was the type of girl who commanded attention without ever really intending to have captured it in the first place. The action on the screen had taken a (expectedly) macabre turn causing Buddy to divert his idle attentions from it to any other suitable object, happening, person, or oddity in the room. Jessica Wakefield happened to be at least two out of the four and had either inclinations or aspirations toward the others often enough. She also happened to look dejected enough to make him seem downright cheerful, which gave him hope that any efforts toward an actual conversation might not get lost in the circus of suitors, admirers and bon vivants that usually trapezed their way unsteadily around her.

Draining his (by now quite watery) scotch, he left the bar with a nod of appreciation toward its keeper and moved through the crowd toward her. In the time it took him to amble over --taking care not to elbow anyone unless their manners quite firmly deserved it-- he had watched her choke down at least one glass of whatever terribly expensive drink she was pushing tonight and begin on a second. To Buddy, however, it was obvious that the glasses didn't simply spontaneously refill themselves. No, someone was doing it for her. Someone didn't appreciate her obvious pathos as much as he did. Myopic bastards, the lot of them.

"Do you mind if I take this seat?" He'd asked, meaning to gesture politely at the chair across from her before simply sitting down in it, but like the lumbering, flatfooted, awkward, perpetual letter-writing-type that he was, that social grace seemed beyond his capabilities.

"Sorry, it's getting crowded in here," he added, by way of appeasement and less than adequate explanation. His palms felt sweaty. The watery scotch had loosened up his tongue, but done nothing on the whole for his nerves. "Jessica Wakefield, right?"

[confidentially]

She hadn't yet answered him when he sat down beside her, and she slowly turned her head to look at him as he did. There was no spark of recognition there, no jolt of recollection which placed his face with a name in her head. All she saw before her was some nameless Capitol jerk with glasses and an outdated suit. In any other universe that would make him blend in. Here it made him stand out.

"That's me." She said, not quite smiling, resigning herself to having to deal with some adoring fan who probably wanted an autograph or a picture. She hoped her hair looked decent, at least. "Let me guess, your niece is a big fan of mine. Or is it your nephew?"

[parenthetically]

The idea of this woman even being on Lionel's radar made him offer up a ghost of a genuine smile. It cause his cheekbones to lift under the frames of his glasses, his lips curling not quite sarcastically. "My nephew's a little young for your demographic. My kid brother, on the the other hand, thinks you have a certain dramatic flair. He wants to be a professional actor, so he pays attention to that sort of thing."

At 20, Buddy would actually have figured Zooey's limited interest in Jessica Wakefield had more to do with her prolific modeling career than whatever small commercial work she'd done, but that was neither here nor there, nor did he think it an observation that would be particularly flattering for anyone involved. He sighed, sinking slightly further down into his seat as if doing so would make the overly stylish chairs somehow, miraculously, actually comfortable. It didn't.

"No, I was really just looking for a quiet seat in here, and this one happened to be free. You can ignore me, if you like. I hate parties like this anyhow, and I'm not a very good conversationalist either."

open!

[pythianjudgment]

She shouldn't be here. As soon as she found out about the arena and what it would entail, Terezi knew she should have just locked herself in her room and waited for it to be over. She can still remember the last special arena--the feel of the water closing over her head, the burning in her lungs that demanded air, the frantic struggle to reach the surface, all the while knowing that she can't. It's just cruel that there would be a sinking ship in the very next one.

What's crueler is how they've taken all the people she cares about the most. It feels like they're taunting her personally.

Fraysong, Dave, Meulin... Those are the first names that stick out to her, striking one after another like a blow to the gut. Others follow (Albert, Sigma, Bro, Cecil, Carlos, Nepeta, Eponine...) that she recognizes, and it registers that she doesn't want them to die, either. None of them deserve it, regardless of how kind or shitty they've been lately.

But here she is because her curiosity outweighs her terror. Not knowing is always worse than knowing because that's the ignorance that paranoia feeds upon. It's not going to stop her from digging her nails into the table while she's listening to the arena broadcast, but at least it's better than self-imposed isolation.

When the scenes get too difficult to keep her attention, she starts shredding a napkin into little pieces of approximately the same size and sliding the little squares into carefully arranged shapes. The systematic destruction and reconstruction gets her mind off the inevitable deaths of her friends for a little while, if nothing else.

[69problems]

She isn't the only one who probably really shouldn't be here. This is the last thing he wants to watch, but he feels he owes it to the Disciple since he can't be there with her. He spots Terezi's familiar horns across the crowd and it hits him that, as far as he knows, everyone she's close to is in the arena. Of course she's here.

Maybe this is an opportunity? They may not ever be really close, but they'll never be close at all if he doesn't reach out. Stop worrying so much about messing up. He sits down next to her and just watches her shred her paper for a few moments.

"Hello."

[pythianjudgment]

It's apparent how deep in thought she is that she doesn't even notice Signless sit down. When he speaks, she jerks a little. Her head snaps up, and she's a little wide-eyed as she stares blindly. The little bits of shredded napkin are left forgotten on the table.

"What?" Not the most eloquent greeting, but there's a lot on her mind. And she honestly didn't expect Signless to approach her of his own accord. She visibly fumbles for a moment, trying to root herself in her surroundings again. "Did... you need something?"

[69problems]

This is exactly why he needs to make more of an effort to connect with her, he thinks, so she doesn't think he only comes to her when he needs something. Sure, that's a part of their relationship by its very nature, but it shouldn't be all there is.

"No, no. I just saw you sitting alone and thought you might like some company." This can't be fun to watch all alone, he doesn't say. The last thing either of them need is a reminder when they already know full-well what's going on on the screens.

"I'm sorry to have startled you."

[pythianjudgment]

"Oh." Her attention drops back down to the table uncertainly. She didn't really expect Signless to just want to keep her company. She's not sure if she wants company at all, given her current state. But he's already here, and she's not going to tell him to go away.

"It's ok. I just...didn't expect you to be here." Where she expected him to be, she's not sure of that, either. With Karkat maybe? Meulin was in the arena, and that couldn't be easy. It certainly isn't for her.

"You would think they'd pick something more original. Something better than a boat." It's not actually that unoriginal, but the idea of so many people drowning has her on edge. She could have handled anything else. Anything at all--except that sinking boat.