thecapitol | Let's celebrate life!

Entry tags:

Let's celebrate life!

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.

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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?"

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."

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."

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.

Despite better judgements, Jolie can't help but feel a little pity toward Cyrus. Now that she's waking up to the Capitol more and more, it's easier to see that a lot of them are stuck. Just stuck doing what they do. That doesn't make him any less of a prick at times, but being fussy and helpful is an intrinsically important part of her personality.

"Neither. I'm here for Holly." She confirms that curtly, more interested in what he has to say after that. An eyebrow quirks in surprise, as if she didn't expect him to agree with that. It's difficult to consider what to say without going too far on a sympathetic side for the tributes or a cold side for the Capitol. "They shouldn't have been there in the first place." She begins with a slight curl of her lip. "But they should have expected it. Right? They get close here, snatching people to who knows where for who knows how long was always going to ruffle some feathers."

She can't help letting out a faint, huff of a laugh at his intentions. Partly out of sympathy for him, but it's also hiding the fact that she's worried a tribute might push their luck with him. "It's gonna take a big plaster to fix this mess, Cyrus."

Edited 2014-08-25 12:26 (UTC)

"You're telling me." He sounds... weary. Exasperated. A little disgusted, even. "Every time, it takes a bigger plaster, doesn't it? It only remains to be seen if we'll learn to foresee the consequences of our actions before we set ourselves up for a wound we can't plaster over."

He pauses. It's more than he intended to say. Substantially more. He'd grown more incredulous with every punishment inflicted on the suspected murderers-- the imprisonment he could stomach, but the branding? The torture? It was too much at once, too much cruelty to sell with pretty words and superficial reassurances. But he'd said nothing. Of course he'd said nothing. It wasn't his job to argue.

This is far too close to saying something. Something definitively negative.

Cyrus doesn't bother trying to cover it with a smile. He just takes a calming sip of his drink and says, lightly, "...Not that I intend to make any predictions, of course."

It's sort of vilifying, hearing it from Cyrus of all people. Jolie doesn't quite trust him, just like the tributes, it's hard to figure out where you stand when you suddenly change sides. If she could do it, others could, right? Stephen did it, it's hard to imagine he and Cyrus on opposing sides, maybe the onslaught of bullshit will get some of his influence on their side. Unfortunately, it's just a little too hopeful for Jolie to believe right now.

Still, when she doesn't know quite what to say, gestures are far more earnest. She'll lean a little more against him with a tired smile on her face, staring ahead rather than looking up at him.

"Do you think we'll all get a raise, soon? I could use a raise." When in doubt, make a joke. "Or some extra training, it feels like. My escorts are flakes." She pulls a face that's only more exaggerated by the excessive make up. "Maybe we start doing trust exercises or something. I promise I'll catch you." This time she does look up at him with a snicker.

He can't laugh. He's at a funeral. He'll be an asshole if he laughs. So he ducks his head and puts his face in his glass and lets that cover the noise he makes, which isn't quite a snort, but has aspirations thereto.

"Maybe that's what'll do it," he says. "All we need is a long office retreat for the whole Tower. We'll have it catered. Go in a circle and learn everybody's names." There's something rueful in that; he looks out over the party, his smile almost completely under control, but it picks up again when he glances sidelong at Jolie. "I still couldn't tell you who half these people are. How do you keep them apart, when they don't have, like... horns?"

"You had me at catered." Her face lights up at the prospect. Even if she's done well to behave respectfully so far, the idea of all of them playing some goofy team-building games with shrimp cocktails is both hilarious, horrifying and oddly enticing.

"Well, you've only been here- what? A few weeks. I'm kinda surprised you don't see them advertised all over the place though." She gives him a wry smile. "Is it really harder than telling the difference between old-white-guy number one and slightly-older-white guy at your cabinet or whatever? You don't even need to find the distinguishing traits, because they sure as hell know how to market them."

They don't do team-building exercises in high politics. Everyone knows they're not a team, so why pretend? It could only end in multiple poisonings.

He winces at the remark-- "--Touché." The answer there, of course, is that he has to tell those old white guys apart. No one on the cabinet is beneath his notice. Not like... well. Not like every single Tribute. But that's not something you say.

"I mean-- sure, their faces are everywhere, but there are so many of them. Not like it used to be, right? Just-- Twenty-four of them, and then you only had to remember their names for, what, a month? They don't even dress them by District anymore."

A sigh (not without a trace of irony). Gone are the good old days, right?

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reallynow - 2014-10-27 07:09 (UTC) - Expand

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currupted - 2014-11-02 15:03 (UTC) - Expand

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."

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.

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.

Edited 2014-08-20 09:32 (UTC)

It comes naturally to Jolie, despite her harsh words and her smart mouth she just can't help giving in to the need to fuss. She'd tried so hard to cut herself off from caring about tributes, but they'd proven over and over that they were human and vulnerable and they needed her. It was impossible to ignore a summoning like that.

Her arms squeeze tighter when she sniffles, rubbing her arms comfortingly. The sound she makes at Clara's questions get a huff as a response, it starts off like a laugh. Like are you for real? People still die in these quells, but with sparse frequency. Kids in particular seemed to hang around. Jolie can't help remembering the relief she felt at the change, then the guilt as she began to associate more with the people under her wing. It used to be much simpler, but it used to hurt just as much.

"I don't know." She answers coldly, a quiver entering her voice despite herself. She's trying to buck up, not wanting to make her grief more apparent than it already is, but she feels an immense amount of guilt even remembering it. "It's how it's always been." There's an unspoken I'm sorry present in her tone.

It isn't the Clara doesn't know that sometimes people here die for good. Of course they do. How else would she have ended up here if someone hadn't died and left a spot open that the Gamemakers needed to fill? Which is what really makes it occur to her which part of Orc's death truly bothers her. It's one thing for someone to die in the Arena and for the Capitol to choose not to bring them back. Sure, she isn't that used to that because she hasn't been here for very long, but that leaves open a window of sorts.

Death by Peacekeepers? There's no chance that the Capitol will ever decide to bring Orc back one day. There's no hopeful belief that maybe, just maybe, the Capitol was merciful and brought someone back to send them home without telling anyone. No, this is permanent.

There are things Clara wants to say. Things she's certain Jolie won't go and tattle about her saying. But she knows that, especially at an event like this, eyes and ears are everywhere. "That sucks," is the best that she can manage without cursing out the existence of the Capitol's government.

It's a funeral, so there's no cause for mirth, but Jolie can't help snorting faintly at the way Clara puts it. "It does suck." She agrees in a soft voice, feeling the sadness ease a little bit. "But not everyone sucks, at least." She observes, giving Clara a small smile and squeezing her arms tighter around her. It's easy to make it seem like she's just comforting the other woman, but it's doing her a lot of good to hug her like this as well.

Clara was a good person. Genuinely. Jolie can take the tiniest bit of pride in knowing she has people like her on her side. People who are unconditionally nice and real and nothing like the idiots she deals with on a daily basis, they're worth fighting for. It just sucks that she can't tell her that.

So instead? She's just going to lean in and kiss her on the cheek. Much better.

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.

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.

"What can I say, crashin' a party beats the alternatiwes," like not being an asshole. Who even does that? Not Eridan. But as Jolie went on to explain, he started to examine his nails instead. Finishing off that little morsel he had too.

"Yeah, I'm startin' to get you humans are massiwely obsessed with the idea a feelin' sorry for yourselwes. Does that ewer get borin'? I imagine it would."

It's all so dismissive, he really just didn't give a shit about humans, nor their customs towards the death. Absolute waste of time and energy, he thought. He flashed his gaze up at her, however.

"What about you? You don't seem half near as weepy as these other sad sacks."

Edited 2014-08-25 21:09 (UTC)

"Obviously, considering we're surrounded by death daily but this is the first funeral we've had since I can remember." Her tone is pretty pointed right now. Sure people could be mopes, but factually speaking this isn't something that happens often.

"If anything this is a break in the monotony. When you recognise that something shit happened and it sucks you give yourself an in to move on and get over it." Clearly she's very broken up about all of this. She's sure other people would get more defensive at the questions but she can't find it in herself to care all that much about it.

"I didn't know him, I never spoke to him." She shrugs. "I'm here to make sure nobody does something stupid." He's getting a Look for his trouble.

"Where I'm from you grow pretty used to the idea that eweryone you know is gonna die sooner than later so we don't do no bloody celebration ower the deaths a your fellows. It's a pointless waste a time, an' I'm glad this place, for the most part, is similar in that reasonin' then."

That look gets nothing from Eridan, he just ignores it and it's shitty implications (at first). He still doesn't get how this helps, partially because he knows when he broods on the past it only makes him more angry. Though this seems even more dumb when it's just a death. Death happens, it sucks, get over it.

"But I guess one party ower some dead guy ain't so bad," he admits, "so, you'we got any luck with that? The stoppin' people from bein' stupid?" he almost looks coy when he asks, deciding to purposefully act dumb to her implications, than to flat ignore them.

"That's nice." Said so insincerely. "You won't see me complaining. One less stupid asshole to explain the consequences of rebellion to and all that tripe." Not that she believes in the Hunger Games and their purpose so much anymore, but Eridan serves as a good way to get back into looking like a typical Capitol airhead.

"That's the spirit. You get used to morons doing pointless crap you don't approve of eventually." She gives his shoulder a little shove at his reaction, noting the coy expression and smirking in return. He's a little asshole, but he's endearing. He could definitely be popular if he looked a little less like a tool. "It's a work in progress. You know how it is." She shrugs her shoulders and idly reaches out to invade his space further, winding her fingers around the lock of purple. "So, why purple?"

"Certainly ain't a big deal in any case," he remarks offhandedly, before nodding to the next part, "rebellions are certainly more fuckin' effort than their worth, an' those who ain't deserwin' a bein' on top don't really got the right to try to be, anyway."

The little shove to his shoulder gets her a disgruntled look, his nose scrunching as he looks to where her hand once was, before his gaze goes back to her. It's flat, and a little miffed, because she touched him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but it dies in his throat when she reaches out and touches his hair. Instead, a surprise sort of squawk leaves him, and he's jerking back, with a hand reaching up to swat at the one invading his personal space.

"Hey--don't get all friendly with me, I didn't say you could touch me--also it's wiolet, not purple. Get your colors straight." he's obviously flustered by this strange adult human touching him like she has any right at all, his fins are even flaring.

"And it's cuz it's the color I bleed, it's my hemo-caste, an' also my faworite color. Why, what does it matter?"

Edited 2014-09-02 05:12 (UTC)

The way he reacts to a friendly shove is probably indication enough of how he feels about having his space invaded, but she's a stylist. She's used to it. She isn't doing anything insidious, by her standards, she's just curious.

God, the squawk is hilarious and she pulls her hand back with a loud one, utterly amused by his reaction more than she is miffed. Her hands loop together and hang in front of her and she rolls his eyes when he nitpicks colours. Pretentious.

"Sensitive, much? You made of glass or something?" She quirks a brow at his explanation, her nose just barely crinkling when he brings up blood. "It's tacky. You could do better." She wants to reach up and turn his face to get a better look, but she refrains. "You have a pretty face, why are you hiding it behind glasses? You wanna look smart? There are easier ways to go about it, kid."

Edited 2014-09-04 09:38 (UTC)

He'd be a lot more pissed if not for her compliment at the end. He's about to tell her off, deny being made of glass or being sensitive, which would sooner prove her right than give credibility to his words, but then he stops at the mention of him being pretty. He almost preens from it, really.

"I like bein' able to see," he retorts with less fire than he would normally have. He likes compliments, okay!? But he settles, his arms folding over his chest as he watches her closely, narrowing his eyes.

"But what would you - in your infinite wisdom - suggest I do, then? Since I'm so tacky." He ends it with a roll of his eyes. He knows he looks awesome, and if this overly made up clown-looking woman has anything to say, he's pretty sure it's not worth her weight in salt, but he's curious.