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

[unconchonable]

If it's to any comfort at all, Cyrus is hardly alone when it comes to his jaw aching over Eridan Ampora. Honestly, anything aching because of him is a fairly usual symptom of brief interaction with the young sea dweller.

"I don't see people tryin' to heal, I see people stewin' in their own self pity." he comments rather rudely, taking another sip of his drink. He's completely disregarding Cyrus' advice as he looks around the area, before settling back on Cyrus.

"See, where I'm from you kinda grow up expectin' your friends to die sooner than later. It's just the way a things, if you get bogged down by ewery death, then soon enough it'd be you decoratin' the ground with your entrails," he says it all so casually, and with a shrug.

"I ain't hecklin' no one. I'm just here for the food, not to rub their collectiwe snouts in the pointlessness a this all an' the death of a friend. Besides, if I get kicked out, how am I gonna experiment eatin' your shitty human food?"

Some people come to funerals to mourn, Eridan comes to them for new life experiences. He's a classy sort, that Ampora.

[currupted]

Do you listen to the words that come out of your mouth? Cyrus just barely manages to stop himself asking.

"It sounds like you've prejudiced yourself against our food already," he says instead, because the less time he spends facilitating Eridan's loud disdain for human emotion, the better. "Can it really be called an experiment if you've already drawn your conclusion?"

It pricks at his pride, for some reason, to hear it called shitty human food. Pride in his humanity isn't something Cyrus has ever had much cause to think about before, but he finds himself feeling almost... defensive about it, in this case. Though, he reflects, that might have less to do with intercultural misunderstanding and more to do with a subconscious desire to spite Eridan.

[unconchonable]

He really doesn't have a filter. It's never been expected of him, and why would it? He's a prince, he's been raised to believe he's infallible, and while he's been proven otherwise, old habits die hard.

"Well, it's human food. Can't be all that good by the fact you all are watered down wersions of us, so your food, naturally, can't compare neither. But maybe I'll find something passably edible in this shitty place. At least this swill ain't bad," he says as he lifts the glass up for emphasis. he takes a sip, eying Cyrus for a moment.

"Y'know, gotta say this place's lack a grub-based dishes is rather appallin'. I really think it's the single worst injustice Panem has to offer, I'm really fuckin' troubled by it," he says in the middle of a funeral, while everyone is mourning a death of a loved one. Because lack of grubloaf is clearly worth more mourning than the loss of a life. Yep.

[currupted]

"Have you considered placing a complaint with the kitchens?" Cyrus asks, and while he manages to keep outright exasperation out of his voice, he hopes the message is clear: That is not my area of jurisdiction. "I know that Tribute comfort is a priority in the Tower-- surely someone there, under your instruction, would be willing to accommodate your request for..." What was it--? "...for grub-based dishes."

He, personally, cannot think of anything he would enjoy less than a grub-based dish, based on what remote contact he's had with grubs; but he isn't here to judge alien culinary tastes. If Eridan wants to eat insect larva for every meal, that's entirely his affair.

[unconchonable]

"I hawen't, no. Didn't think any would comply with my demands, seein' as your type don't seem too keen on respectin' your better. But maybe I'll try."

He catches the message, but Eridan has designated Cyrus as Capitol Complaint Department, and there's little he can do about it. Once Eridan's settled on something, there's little to be done to shake him from it.

"Though, I guess with your ability to bring us trolls here, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for you to use your resources to bring in troll grubs, huh?" he asks pretty plainly, as if the allusion to the fact that trolls eat their own young regularly isn't at all disgusting or perturbing.

[currupted]

Cyrus needed a moment to process that. So he took a long, long, slow drink.

He'd have let it go, if not for that particular phrasing - bring in troll grubs. Trolls, he was learning, liked to put the word troll in front of completely normal words and treat them as though they were something totally different; but this felt different, somehow. Not troll grubs as in grubs from whatever world trolls came from; but as in grubs that are trolls.

"Just... to be clear," he said, in a tone very, very carefully neutral-- devoid of disgust, or revulsion, or... anything else really. Giving Eridan the opportunity not to be talking about what Cyrus was beginning to suspect he might be talking about. "We have grubs in Panem. We wouldn't need to bring them in."

[unconchonable]

Eridan observed Cyrus as he took his time with his drink. His mind utterly bereft of any idea that what he said could be troubling at all, in any way. Imperfect troll grubs were a staple food for their natural diet, that was just how things were. Didn't need those worthless things going to waste, gotta utilize everything!

When Cyrus finally spoke, Eridan narrowed his eyes, his eyebrow quirking curiously, before a look of disgust washed over his features, "What? No--not that type a grub. I ain't goin' to be pullin' no random terrestrial larwa outta the fuckin' ground and slurp it down like some disgustin', an' downright unciwilized animal."

He's dignified.

"I'm meanin' like troll young, see we start out as grubs, then we pupate, et cetera, et cetera--I'll sawe you the details a that, but for the trolls ain't worthy a pupatin' an' becomin' a troll proper, we eat 'em." he said coolly, completely relaxed and casual. Taking a sip of his drink before a question comes to his mind.

"I mean uh, what is it you humans do with your rejected offspring if you don't eat 'em?"

[currupted]

There are many things that Cyrus could say here. There are many things he wants to say. And he wants to preface saying them by turning to Eridan with a look of horror and disgust on his face, and deliver them with all of the incredulous revulsion he is feeling in this moment, the amount of which is considerable.

The struggle not to do this is monumental. It takes him a second to overcome the urge-- or, at least, to bury it. Not completely, though. One corner of his mouth pulls up in the beginning of a grimace, and he can't stop the frown that settles around his eyes.

But he manages to say: "We don't... reject our offspring." His voice is flat. So, so pointedly flat. He is looking out over the crowd, and not at Eridan. The last-ditch effort of a man who cannot make his voice sound approving to make it sound, if nothing else, not horrified. "Just, in general. In fact, it's seen as cruel. Barbaric, even. To be avoided when possible."

He hopes that there is some kind of object lesson coming through there, somehow. Something like, Don't talk about devouring your unworthy young in public.

[unconchonable]

"That's kinda hilarious to hear you say, actually," Eridan retorts, eying him with amusement. His eyebrows raising a bit. If Eridan picked up any cues, it's up in the air, because he's not showing any signs of it.

"When you hawe plenty a younger humans here to compete in these brutal and blood-drenched games. Not that I'm judgin', just seems awful hypocritical." Eridan glances around the crowd, seeing if anyone's listening. He had the decency to talk a little softer, but beyond that, he's not exactly filtering what he says.

"How is rejectin' the inferior, worthless offspring any different then sendin' them in by the drowes to slaughter each other? Ewen pinnin' them against adults an' other species much more suited to wiolence. Ain't much more of a fightin' chance than we giwe our own," he reaches over, patting Cyrus on the arm with a smug sort of look, "methinks we're along the same wein, when it comes to cruelty, really. Though I admit we trump you, but the point remains."

[currupted]

Cyrus hadn't been aware that it was possible to be disgusted, horrified, and offended; but every conversation he has with Eridan Ampora is a learning experience.

He doesn't want to be compared to a troll. He doesn't want his system to be measured against some bizarre alien tyranny. He doesn't want to have to defend the Games to someone who can't see the difference between leaving innocent children to die in the wilderness, and carefully selecting them to protect the greater interests of their communities.

"You weren't here for the Games as they used to be," he says, and he's given up trying to fix on a smile-- coldly polite is about all he can do. "Only twenty-four children were ever in the Arena at one time-- and over a third of them volunteered. Hardly a rejection." The new Games... that's not relevant. Those aren't Panem's children out there.

"The main difference, however," he says, "Is that we don't eat them."

[unconchonable]

Eridan is pretty good at pushing your boundaries, even with simple conversation. He has no shame towards his society, in fact, he is absolutely proud of it!

"Don't rightly think I ought to be, Cy. It's pretty tellin' as it is now, an' what measure of cruelty you lot are capable of. It's pretty impressiwe for such a weak species." He does raise his eyebrows at the point Cyrus brings, mentioning how a third volunteered before. He could argue that plenty of lowbloods volunteer their own loyalty to highbloods so that they might live an existence that goes beyond being a colorful splatter of blood on the ground, which means fairly little for their own freewill, honestly, or what they really think of their oppressed situation. People do interesting things for the sake of survival. He doesn't though, he just lets Cyrus continue.

The waning of his resolve is pretty entertaining for the seadweller, and he really wonders just how far he can push him.

"I hawe to wonder, what's so wrong with eatin' them? I mean, really, what's so morally corrupt about it? Wouldn't wastin' what's there be worse off, why let what good meat you got go to waste, when it could be feedin' those still clingin' to life, right? It's like you prioritize the dead before the liwin' which is weird."

[currupted]

How do you explain something that goes without saying? How can Cyrus possibly convey this message without going into a speech, far more detailed than Eridan deserves, about the taboo of cannibalism, the double-taboo of child cannibalism, and the difference between necessary and gratuitous cruelty?

No. No, he won't do it. It's not his job to educate Tributes on the cultural and moral underpinnings of human society. Eridan can take his query to Jennifer Blackwood, or the network, or-- anyone, anyone else.

"Is your world that impoverished?" he asks, with determinedly mild curiosity. It's petty, maybe-- he'll admit it's petty-- but there's only so long he can listen to Eridan impugn the good name of his own imperfect world without giving back as much as he's given. "Because here, we don't have to resort to devouring our young. We have other resources available. We may be a weak species, but we've done well enough for ourselves that our own offspring aren't the only thing standing between us and imminent starvation."

[unconchonable]

"Oh we ain't impowerished, not at all. An', it ain't outta necessity. We simply rather make those worthless worth somethin'. An' what they amount to is a meal. A delicious meal, wery delicious indeed." He emphasizes indeed with a raise of his eyebrows.

"See, I think the difference between us - now that I'm thinkin' about it - is you humans kinda got torso-burstin' offspring or whatewer, so I guess that personally takes a lot outta you as a species. So, I can see why you might not want to make all that effort go to waste? But it seems to me like it's a whole lot a wasted effort to attempt to make a shitty one a your offspring into somethin' when they might not be worth a whole lot to begin with, and ewen at the end a their life. May as well let that come sooner, certainly would sawe you some shame an' embarrassment."

There he goes, rambling again about shit he doesn't really know or understand, but he's... trying??? at least?

"An' us trolls, we're hatched by the bloody thousands, an' not all of us can become someone, so we just make use a the ones who can't. It's pretty simple and understandable if you actually put your inferior, pink human sponge to work."

[currupted]

It's funny - that actually makes a kind of sense. It's not a far-fetched conclusion to draw. Thinking about it, Cyrus can see that there is some merit to this argument. It's just that something about being told to put his inferior, pink human sponge to work makes him want to stop thinking about it entirely.

"There, you see?" he says, and yes, yes, patronizing is what he's going for. "You've answered your own question. That's why death matters so much to us."

He finishes his drink - it's a mouthful and a half, but he drinks it in one go. And glances sidelong at Eridan, with half a sardonic smile and a tone so dry it could crack in the air between them. "All that wasted effort."

[unconchonable]

Eridan nods, like he actually knows what's up. It's almost condescending the way he's looking at Cyrus, like he just knows everything. He doesn't, by far, but god does he like to think he does.

"Yeah I guess that's an understandable, though highly misinformed, approach. I mean, I'm sure your females ain't too fancy about poppin' out some pink wiggler and then it bein' killed, but I'm also sure if it was brought to proper practice enough, they'd get ower it." He says it so flippantly, so calm and coolly, it's almost comical. Baby death is just another thing to shoot the shit about, apparently.

"Anyway, I really ain't in the mood to be fathomin' pink torso bursters anyway. Pretty sure that was tangential to begin with. Let's get ourselwes a change a fuckin' topic."

It's at this point he's looking pointedly at Cyrus, clearly it's up to you Mr. Suits.

[currupted]

Finally. Cyrus can't believe he's indulged this so long already. He looks at his empty glass, and at the funeral party around them - a lot of dour people, a lot of sad faces. People who look like they're actually attending a funeral, which Eridan does not.

"Terribly sorry," he says abruptly, almost over the end of Eridan's sentence, and with only the barest pretense at any real apology. "But I'm afraid I'm needed on the other side of the garden." There will be someone there who isn't Eridan, is what he means, and he will find a reason to talk to them.

"Perhaps," he adds, already beginning to put distance between them, "you should find someone close to the deceased, and offer your condolences."