Let's celebrate life!

[delightable]

Who| Everyone who wants to mourn Orc, or wants free food
What| A mingle log, where Holly is holding a memorial party on the roof to celebrate Orc's life
Where| The roof
When| A couple of days before the arena
Warnings/Notes| N/A unless you count people being sad about death

Orc's death really shook Holly up. There's nothing she can do about it, nor does she have the courage to speak out about it. But she doesn't have it in her to just pretend it never happened. She was quite fond of Orc, he deserves to be remembered and people deserve to have a place they can do so, regardless of whether or not he was a rebel.

So, a couple of days prior, she starts posting fliers and handing them out to anyone who will take one. They're sparkly, colorful and visually loud just like the Capitol. But their intent is clear; on the roof, she's holding a memorial party for Orc for anyone and everyone to come and celebrate his life.

The memorial is held in the evening, and when the time comes, there is a buffet table with various foods, snacks and drinks, all supplied by Holly herself, and Jolie who helped a little as well. The area is cleared around Eponine's secret place, where a little shrine is set up with a picture of Orc surrounded by candles and other mementos relating to the boy. There's also a podium, where anyone is free to say a few words for him if they so choose.

It's the closest to a funeral that she can get, because she knows she'll never have permission to hold a real one.

Comments

[gardienne]

Eponine is, of course , there, feeling horribly guilty. She's guilty over Orc's death, over the fact that he had died to save her because he loved her so much, because for ages and ages, she's not loved him in return. It's horrible, fighting that knowledge, and that, more than anything, makes her cry.

She sits by her 'secret place', which isn't really secret, but a small flowerbed set around an unusually shaped black rock. She 's been using the rock to hide things: she had stashed the hairbrush Sigma had given her here so her dad couldn't sell it or break it. Now, a porcupine t-shirt takes pride of place.

She sits on the floor, with her arms about her poodle, Bisoux. Her hair is pulled carefully back, so it can't catch in her sticky, still oozing wound, which has been creamed and padded out with a foam pad and covered over with a plastic stuff held in place with medical tape. It's uncomfortable , but the best she can do to prevent infection. It means she can't speak properly, though. Her words are muffled by the tape that fixes over the left side of her lips.

She sits, trying not to draw attention to herself, here because she has to be.

[reallynow]

Despite being dressed in a fine gown like any self respecting Capitolite, when Jolie spies Eponine she wastes no time sinking to the floor alongside her with a soft, slightly unladylike grunt. She's happy to stay silent until Eponine makes it clear whether she even wants her there, but she'll raise a careful hand to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze and offers her a small smile.

[gardienne]

Eponine smiles ruefully back. She's not on the verge of tears any more, which can only be a good thing. But she's far from happy. She's exhausted.

"Thank you for coming, Miss."

She's quiet for a minute, just looking at the rock with Orc's picture balanced on it, whilst she hugs her dog's neck. "He would'a hated this, you know? He hated parties. Charles..."

[reallynow]

"It's the least I could do. Poor Holly is all worked up over it, too." She casts the escort a concerned look, but she's more focused on Eponine at the moment. Far more worried, too. She almost wants to offer to take her back to the couch in D8 and let her sleep, but she refrains for the moment.

She smiles a wry smile at the comment, thinking on how it ties into this being the least she could do. "Sometimes it isn't about what they'd like, I think. Some people gotta show that they care and they gotta do that by commiserating with other people who care." She gives her shoulders a small shrug. "Wouldn't feel right if they let him leave without saying goodbye the only way they know how."

[reallynow]

Jolie didn't know Orc personally, she hadn't spent much time in Holly's district or gotten to know her tributes particularly well. Yet, her involvement in the jailbreak makes her feel the strangest amount of guilt for someone she couldn't even pretend to know. At least a small part of being here was to support Holly. It was hard enough having her tributes dragged off to jail, she doesn't want to remember the pain of knowing they're gone for good. She's been in the business long enough that the death of a tribute isn't the strangest thing, but the strangeness of the circumstances makes it all the more miserable.

Feeling the appropriate amount of awkward given that she doesn't know much about the guy they're paying respects to, she's waffling around the outskirts of the gathering with a drink in her hand. She's looking pensively at nothing in particular, but when someone approaches she'll offer them a soft smile and depending on how well she knows them, she'll drape on them.

Every person, however, will be asked one simple question. "How're you holding up?"

[currupted]

Well. It looks like there is someone he knows here. Cyrus catches Jolie's eye as he approaches, lifting his glass briefly in greeting as he leaves his vigil by the shrine and makes his way carefully through the milling crowd to her.

The question that comes as he moves up beside her throws him, however. He actually has to take a second, to pull himself out of the mindset of the memorial and process it - to take stock of how he's actually feeling, and how much he's willing to say about how he's actually feeling. He blinks at her just a second too long to be natural.

"...Oh, fine," he says after a moment, with a swift, humorless smile. He steps more decisively into place next to her, out of the path of people passing. "Busy week. I'm sure you can imagine."

[reallynow]

Cyrus gives Jolie the strangest feelings. The most conflicting feelings a person can have, really. The overwhelming sense of oh god he's hot followed by the down spiral of oh god he's talking. She's a pretty honest person, generally, but you don't exactly throw shade at a member of Snow's cabinet. The last time she got cocky about insulting politicians she got fired, whoops. Now that she's assisting tributes in rebellion, she feels like the punishment may be more severe.

She asks the question purely out of good manners, reading his expression as he hesitates without taking to much consideration in it. She doesn't have the attachment to Orc to be offended by it, but she has the opportunity to sell herself as a regular and well-behaved citizen.

"We can always trade jobs." She offers with a small smirk. "I'll handle the people, you can hand-stitch sequins onto skimpy outfits while handing out hankies." With ease, she'll place a hand on his shoulder to bridge a the gap between being cold and being casual. Friends. Yay. "Didn't think I'd see you here, actually."

[currupted]

Cyrus half-wishes there were a way to thank Jolie for the gesture of friendship. It feels a hell of a lot less awkward now-- like he knows someone here. Like he actually belongs here, and isn't just wandering the borders of somebody else's tragedy.

"I hadn't originally planned to come. Honestly, I never spoke to the poor kid," Cyrus says, dropping his voice a little to avoid offending an actual mourner. "But, well-- it shouldn't have happened. I figured it might do some good, to make my position on that clear."

He hasn't had an easy time of it, his tone suggests. Most people he's spoken to have been suspicious at best; quite a few have ignored him outright. Others have been Eridan Ampora. It's difficult, it turns out, to sell Tributes on the legitimacy of Capitol sympathy at a memorial for a teenager killed by Peacekeepers.

[seestheman]

Clara isn't sure why she's crying so much over someone she barely knew. Maybe it's the lost potential that comes with the loss of any young life. Maybe it's because D10 is suddenly so much cleaner than it usually is and that just feels so wrong. Either way, Clara's eyes are bright red when she looks up at the now draped over her Jolie, one hand holding a crumpled tissue that is close to falling apart on her simple black knee-length dress.

"As well as anyone is, I guess." A sad, teary laugh bubbles out of her. "I didn't even know him that well."

[reallynow]

It doesn't surprise Jolie too much, honestly. Hearing about it had made her shed a few tears, if only because it's making her realise how bleak this feels. She hasn't really had the chance to celebrate any successes with how badly things had gone, but she's a good actor. She puts on her face every day, now is no exception.

Instantly she remembers how Clara comforted her when she'd needed it, so she doesn't waste time winding her arms a little tighter around her and pulling her in for a hug. She lets her head rest on top of Clara's, rubbing her hand on her back at an easy pace.

"Doesn't make it any less sad." She muses. "Kinda get used to people coming back around here, after all." It's sad to say, but she wants Clara to know she has a right to feel the way she does.

[seestheman]

It's the strangest thing, being comforted instead of being the one giving comfort. Hell, even in the aftermath of the bombing, she didn't get much comfort from the people around her. Sad, pitying glances? Sure. But comfort like this? Some, but very little. And she didn't have much time to focus on it since she was so laser focused on comforting David.

So she doesn't fight Jolie's hug or the way she rests her head on her's.

"It's the strangest thing, but it keeps hitting me just how young he was. He was just a kid," she says with a small sniffle. "Why kind of place kills kids for getting in over their heads?" Of course, Clara's well aware that the Capitol has no qualms about killing children. She's done research about the games before the Neverending Quell. It doesn't change her opinion on the matter, though.

[unconchonable]

Eridan hardly knew anyone here, personally speaking. He really was rather tasteless, showing up without a concern about any of these mourning people, he was here for the food, for the entertainment, and it beat being alone.

He was in the middle of getting himself a little snack, when he heard someone near him ask how he was holding up. At first, he figured it was to someone else, but when he glanced around, and there wasn't anyone near him besides the overly made-up human woman besides him, he was able to put two and two together.

"I'm holdin' up fine. Didn't ewen know the guy." he offered flatly, before taking a bite out of the questionable human food, his nose scrunching as he tried to decide if he liked it or not.

"So what's ewen the point of all a this, anway? Sure is a lot a shit for a dead guy who won't appreciate any of it 'cos he's too busy bein' dead."

Eridan Tactful Ampora.

[reallynow]

Since Jolie doesn't know Orc personally, she isn't terribly surprised that other people who barely knew him would be here. She can't discern from people who did and didn't know him, but Eridan looks particularly sullen and worth approaching. They're both weird and grey, right? That's a basis for a friendship. Like being weird and gay. Yep.

She's a little taken aback at how flippant he is, but it doesn't take her long to recover. Her face goes from one of sympathy to a bland look, a lip quirking in faint amusement.

"Whaddaya know, you set free food out and you get all sorts of people crashing the party." It's said without accusation, she just seems amused. "Ever think it might not be for him, fins? It's a "we feel like shit" shindig for people who wanna get together and talk about a person they'll miss. Ain't that hard to figure out, is it?"

Rose is right, trolls are stupid.

[currupted]

Cyrus vaguely remembers Orc. Granted, it's a little less vaguely than he remembers most Tributes; he's seen the footage of his execution, and recently. He'd spent a good ten minutes afterward with his face buried in his hands, playing it over and over in his head, trying to think of any way to explain this to the public that wasn't going to light another damned spark under the rebellious sensibilities of the greater idiots among the Tributes.

He wishes, wholeheartedly, that it hadn't happened. He wishes their jailbreak, ill-conceived and clumsily executed as it was, could have gone off without a death. He wishes as sincerely as any Tribute that Orc were alive, and his death not a potential rebel weapon for which the Capitol will now have to scramble.

Cyrus attends the memorial because he wishes that Orc's death hadn't happened, and whatever his own thoughts on the matter may be, he's determined to make that as public as he possibly can. He comes dressed soberly; even the sparkle of the small jewels in his cuff links seems subdued. He'd asked his own stylist for something appropriate for mourning, and been given an ensemble of black and dark, dark red.

He stands near to the shrine with a drink in one hand and the other shoved into his pocket, looking at the mementos arranged around the photograph with a pensive frown. He hangs back from approaching people in conversation; he didn't come here to be social, and he doesn't think the attempt would be appreciated. But for those who approach the shrine, he will offer a brief touch of his hand to their arm or their shoulder, and a hushed murmur of, "My condolences. This shouldn't have happened."

[bindsthedead]

Sabriel's stylist tended to dress her in black even when she wasn't attending a memorial service. Still, they'd picked out something relatively subdued, the only skull present in the form of a carved bone decoration on her choker.

She gave Cyrus a polite nod. She knew the act she had to put on- the one of an ominous necromancer- and had no interest in making him comfortable. Still, he was high ranking enough that threatening him would be stupid. So she stuffed down her anger and put her best manners on display.

"It shouldn't have," Sabriel echoed, "But unfortunately, everyone and everything has a time to die. I suppose that was his."

[currupted]

Cyrus looked at Sabriel with mild surprise under his veneer of sympathy. That was both more morbid than he had expected, and less angry. (...Was that a skull? Tasteful.)

He sighed. "I suppose," he said. "I only wish the circumstances had been different." He looked back at the photograph and shook his head. "Within the week, his memory will be a symbol. A tool. Tragic."

[gardienne]

Eponine, in turn, vaguely knows Cyrus' face, though she can't name him, or say what he does. What she does know is that he isn't a Tribute. And as far as she's concerned, he has absolutely no right to be stood at Orc's memorial in her special place after what had happened to the poor lad.

For a while, she merely watches Cyrus from her seat on the floor next to the rock, saying nothing. But when it becomes apparent that the man isn't going to move, she gets up, pulling the hood of her 'Porcupine' jumper up over her head in an attempt to cover her scars a little bit.

"Who are you, Sir? Did you know Charles? You are not a Tribute, are you?" She asks accusingly.

[currupted]

Cyrus startles, just a little. With his concentration divided between the shrine and the people immediately surrounding him, he hadn't thought to look for the girl on the floor.

It's difficult not to startle again, when he gets half a look at her face. Here's a girl who looks like she got on the Capitol's wrong side and decided to buy property there. She's familiar, in a way that makes Cyrus think he must have seen her recently; but was it on some glittery evening talk show, or in surveillance footage?

But Cyrus isn't here to judge. He's not out to police anyone's involvement here. And so he gives Eponine a kind half-smile, tinged at the edges with sympathy and regret. As though he understands her anger, and so is choosing not to mirror it.

"No, I'm not a Tribute," he says. "And I'm afraid I didn't know Charles, either - at least, not personally." He puts out a hand to her to shake, a little hesitantly. "My name is Cyrus Reagan. I work for President Snow. And believe me-- if I could have prevented this, I would have. I'm here to mourn Charles, just as you are."

[unconchonable]

As it just so happens, Eridan decided to take part in this little social gathering. Funerals aren't really a thing on Alternia, they'd be a waste of time and resources for how many trolls die daily, much easier to let the local fauna devour the corpses anyway. Sure keeps the shadowdroppers numbers down, at least. He saw the fliers, but decided to come for the food, he didn't know Orc after all, and what better way to spend his time than to see a bunch of humans be miserable over something as pathetic as death? Exactly.

He has priorities, alright?

So when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he's jerking it away, before turning to see none other than Cyrus. His expression quickly shifts from something near disgusted from being touched, to something a bit more smug. Probably the closest expression he has to 'friendly'.

"I don't need your condolences, nor do I care if this should or shouldn't hawe happened," he offers plainly, "I really don't get the point of this, anyway."

He takes a sip from his drink as he stares at Cyrus.

"So, what're you here for? Tryin' to play up some sympathetic ruse for the tributes? I must say, you are dedicated."

[currupted]

And you're not helping, Cyrus prevents himself from saying.

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Ampora," he says mildly instead. "In fact, if I had an ulterior motive, I think my own dedication to it couldn't possibly compare with your dedication to ferreting it out." A smile - because of course he doesn't have one. That would be terrible.

"I'm here to mourn." He lifts his drink a little in the direction of the shrine, at Orc's face and his small collection of mementos. "That's the point of this. To remember our friend Orc as he was in life, in the company of those who knew him." With a glance at Eridan-- "...I'm assuming you didn't know him."

[seestheman]

Clara never got the chance to get to know Orc very well. She knew he was a teenager and seemed incapable of cleaning up after himself in that way that most teenage boys are (and constantly found herself picking up after him so the Avoxes wouldn't have to) and that he had a girlfriend. Other than that, he's kind of been a mystery to her, but she always figured she'd have a chance to get to know him.

Of course, it turns out that she was wrong. Sure she knew early on that sometimes the Capitol decided against bringing certain people back, but this...this was nothing like that. He had died outside of the Arena and apparently there's no way to come back from that (or there's no way to come back from that that the Capitol will allow). While she never knew him well in life, that doesn't change the fact that they lived together for a time and she felt like she owed it to him to at least come by the memorial service.

She's perched somewhere on the roof, away from the edge, and keeps staring at the shrine, which is probably how someone on will find her if they want to talk to her.

[gardienne]

Eponine watches Clara for a long time before she finally approaches her. She herself had spent a long time knelt next to the shrine, partially through grief for Orc, but to guard her secret spot as well. She didn't want people to find her hairbrush or her little gold-coloured necklace or any of the other treasures she's buried beneath Orc's rock. It was her rock long before it was his, after all.

But between one thing and another, Eponine had been called away from her spot by the rock, and upon returning, she notices Clara watching. It doesn't feel right just walking into the scene and plopping down again, so she watches Clara instead. She wonders what the woman's thinking - did she know Orc? Was she as close to him as Eponine had been?

She approaches Clara from behind, tapping her on the shoulder, before she sits down on the floor next to her.

"You knew him too, Ma'am?"

[seestheman]

Clara hopes her small jump when Eponine taps her shoulder isn't that obvious. She's somewhat surprised that she didn't hear her come up behind her, but then again, that happens sometimes when she's lost in her thoughts.

"Not very well, no," Clara murmurs. "I mostly know...knew him from tidying up after him on our floor." There's a small, sad smile on Clara's face. "I thought there'd be more time to get to know him."

He was 15. That's the thing that keeps occurring to her. There should have been all the time in the world to get to know him. "Kids aren't supposed to be able to die." It's probably the mom in her bringing that out. "Especially not like that."

[dogissues]

Shaggy stays by the buffet table, keeping up a stream of steady eating, although anyone who's spent much time around him where there's food around will notice that he's devouring the refreshments at a more subdued pace than is his normal wont. His shoulders are slumped. He keeps thinking of how he'd promised the rock man to solve the mystery of the scary Penny lady's death and now the rock man's dead too.

[keep_surviving]

Diana doesn't really want to be here. She's not really sure why she bothered. No one was forcing her. And yet a part of her had told her she needed to be here, for whatever reason. Closure? Who the fuck knows.

She and Orc weren't friends. Not really. Not true friends.

They knew each other, yes. They had a bond. A bond from surviving the FAYZ. Well, not surviving. Orc hadn't survived there. And he hadn't survived here either.

She takes a swig of her drink. Something bitter and alcoholic. Her own way of giving Orc a send off. Though she's not convinced Orc ever even liked the taste of the beers he chugged.

She wants to stand at the buffet and eat until she feels sick then drag herself back to her district floor. Probably force herself on Azula a bit. Drown her emotions out under drunken kisses and indigestion.

But the buffet means more people. Probably people who want to ask one of Orc's 'homeworld friends' stupid questions about how she feels and shit.

Lonely. That's how she feels. Like one of the only people who really 'gets it' has left her stuck in this place. She should probably feel more grief instead of selfish loneliness but hey, that's how bitches are, right?