thecapitol | [OPEN] Back door cracked, we don't need a key -

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[OPEN] Back door cracked, we don't need a key -

Who| Bruce Wayne and YOU!

What| Party at Wayne Manor! Free drinks, free food, and lots and lots of music.

Where| Wayne Manor

When| Just after the beginning of the Arena.

Warnings| None yet, though Bruce can get a little grim sometimes.

Ah, another Arena had begun.

That meant all the streets were filled with people bustling around for the latest news, glued to screens, gossiping and placing their bets on who was going to come away from the whole thing a Victor. There were hundreds of people trying to have viewing parties, enthusiastically dressing up in costumes, squealing over food and drink over every little tiny development in the lives of the Tributes. So many parties, it took over the top extravagance to get people to even glance your way.

In other words, it was Bruce Wayne's favorite time to invite the entire Capitol to his house for the evening.

The manor's great room was decorated as festively as ever, black lights shining and making everyone's clothes and teeth pop. The food that was laid out was engineered to glow as well, the drink looking like something radioactive and dangerous where it sat on the trays. Loud music pumped through the building - partly to encourage dance, but also partly to help drown out the one small sitting area that had a screen set out with the Arena feed on it. It wasn't a secret at all the Bruce hated the Games, but he had learned to have at least one means of keeping track of them at his parties. Half of it was courtesy for his guests. The other half was for his own reasons.

The man of the hour himself was flitting from one guest to the next, drink in hand, his black, glittering suit splattered haphazardly with bright splotches of glowing yellow paint. The bright yellow streak laid into his black hair also proved itself within the theme of the evening - it lit up just as well as the paint on his suit and the makeup that lined his eyes and lips.

When asked why he wanted to have a neon black light party, he just laughed, shrugging. "I like the dark. Makes everything else seem brighter, doesn't it?"

As high profile as he was, he made one thing very clear - he was more than willing to be approached for conversation, and he was more than willing to approach you if you didn't get to him first.

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Wesker had no qualms with the darkness, finding the deep shadows both aesthetically pleasing and physically soothing, but he could have done without the piercing flashes of light, making his sensitive eyes ache even behind his dark lenses.

And the music, as well, cacophonous to his ears.

Still, he didn't complain. He merely lingered in the viewing room, under the auspices of minding his tributes.

With so many naughty boys and girls finding themselves banned from such gatherings - untrustworthy, suspicious, othered - being seen, his own face clear and unblemished, was a calculated move.

He wasn't like them. He knew his place.

He could be trusted.

Edited 2014-08-22 11:09 (UTC)

At these things, Bruce didn't prefer to go into the viewing area. He kept it up as a courtesy for his guests, though, and many of those who were there were more than enthusiastic about watching those damned Games were also valuable business partners he couldn't afford to lose. He had to be seen bending against his own preferences for them. It made him look better as a public figure, less belligerent about his lack of interest.

Wandering over, drink in hand, he sat down next to Wesker without any sort of warning or fanfare. His hair was bright enough he figured he could be seen coming a mile away.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Edited 2014-08-22 17:19 (UTC)

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything less," came the reply, purred dryly, the ruby eyes flashing at the corner of Wesker's glasses before the pale head turned, attention shifting from the blood of the Arena to the man beside him.

"Mr. Wayne." He inclined his head to one side. "You've outdone yourself."

"Well, I try," he replied, chuckling a little and taking a sip from his glowing yellow drink. Even his drink was coordinated with his outfit. Whether that was luck or intent was difficult to tell.

"There are an awful lot of parties to compete with around the start of the Arena. It's go big, or fizzle out. I'd prefer not to fizzle out." Fizzling out meant less pandering to the people, less business connections. He needed those. He may look like just another ridiculous Capitolite, but there was a lot of savvy and intellect hidden behind that makeup.

He cast a glance briefly to the screen, lip curling a little bit. More and more exploitation as the time went on. More and more personal.

Disgusting.

"I'd rather be dancing than watching this mess, anyway."

Wesker thought Wayne had to worry about from causing his guests permanent retinal damage than to being overlooked by them, but as it would have been counter-productive to say so, he merely raised a pale eyebrow instead.

"Would that well all could," he murmured coolly. "But some of us are more invested. Lives depending on us, as it were."

"I certainly didn't mean to minimize the struggle of the Tributes," Bruce added, the smile fading on his lips, remaining only as a ghost.

"It's not a secret that I have poured money into sponsoring. I just don't like to show support for the whole system by gluing myself to a screen. I keep my attentions on it in more productive ways. Like you said...these are lives. Not actors poised for our entertainment."

Wesker's face was the same cool, impasse mask as it ever was, but behind the lenses, behind the reptilian eyes, his mind was turning. He'd heard tales of Wayne, of course, had heard the man's name banded out, his face attached to that event or this cause, but it was still another to meet the man himself. To see him be so forward in his stance against the current of the majority.

He was either incredibly foolish, or outstandingly powerful.

"That's a refreshing view point," he replied. "I'm more apt to have a sponsor more interested in my tributes' amorous activities or what they're wearing, as opposed how they might be able to boost their odds of survival."

"I'm not quite as given to gossip as a lot of the other sponsors are. It's not really any of my concern who they're dating or having sex with. They never got asked to be put under the microscope, after all. If I can bring a little comfort, that's the good I can do."

The smile had completely faded from his painted lips. He could tell that it would do nothing for Wesker - and besides, this was a man who he felt like he could be frank with. Likely, the frankness would just be appreciated.

Or seen as a quiet display of power. That much was no accident.

Foolish or powerful. That was the line that Bruce walked, willfully and very, very carefully. He wanted to appear a little of both - not so foolish as to be brushed aside, but not so intimidating that his words could be seen as a threat. It was a balancing act, and one that he had cultivated for quite some time now.

"It must be difficult for you, with so much of your society tied to the Games."

If Wesker's attention had been divided before, it was fixed now. Though he didn't move, though there was now outward change, his senses pinned on the man beside him. Watching him steadily from behind the dark lenses of his glasses, cursing silently the damnable music that kept him from being able to monitor the tell-tale heart.

"You can't even escape it in your own home."

Bruce is perceptive enough to know that he has a lot of attention aimed his way - but he doesn't falter one way or the other, his words passionate, but measured, controlled.

"It is difficult - and no, I can't escape it. None of us can. It's everywhere, and as long as the Games continue, it's never going to stop being everywhere. The best I can do is support the right people, the right concepts...and keep talking. If I shut up about it, it's no better than following the crowd."

He hears commotion on the screen, but he does not turn his head.

He won't watch.

He'll read about it later, and sort out who needs a sponsorship from there - but he won't watch.

"So one assumes then that you don't fall in with the prevailing belief that ending the Games will plunge Panem into chaos and anarchy?" Wesker purred, a pale eyebrow arching.

He would be interested to know who Wayne was supporting, but knew it was better to play his hand slowly.

"I don't. I don't think that, if they end, the Games will cause any irreparable damage to Panem."

He leans back where he sits, crossing his arms over his chest, the playful demeanor that he had been wearing only moments ago looking worlds away from the grimness left in its stead. Fire lit his eyes, resolve set his strong jaw.

"I think the people will."

"Your people?" Wesker asked, "or ours?"

A pale hand gestured toward the screen, a small elegant wave.

"It is, after all, no secret that there's no going home for us. It would be foolish not to expect some - tension."

"There isn't a lot of difference in the destructive power one way or the other, if you ask me."

Bruce's eyes don't follow the gesture. They remain locked upon Wesker, gravely serious, a stillness settling over Bruce as he speaks. A stillness that will, undoubtedly, disappear the moment someone new strolls up and compliments him on the party.

"You're right, though, it is foolish not to expect that people like you would be angry. I'm angry, and I'm not even one of you."

"Oh? I would think some of us are capable of being a great deal more destructive. Many of us, after all, are not human."

An arm stretched out along the back of the couch, the pale thumb of his hand picking rhythmically under his fingernails. A methodical - if unnecessary - cleaning. A soft, insidious click of nails.

"How, do you think, the people will respond when, or if, the Capitol's control fails? Perhaps they'll continue to look to cage us."

"Well, I think that people underestimate just how destructive humankind is in the first place."

Bruce watches the motion for a moment, then regards his own nails for a second. Painted black and yellow to go with his outfit, shining, polished immaculately. The hands - at least by appearance - of a man who doesn't usually have to lift his fingers to do much of anything.

His eyes move back up to meet Wesker's.

"Some might. Some might not. I wouldn't."

He smiled, a shark's grin of even white teeth.

"I know what men can do." Man had crafted T, had unleashed it upon his world -- had made themselves new, for better or, more commonly, for worse. "But it is rather superfluous in the face of beings that turn men inside out with the power of their minds."

That could raise the dead, that could bring millions to their knees, with a few drops of blood.

A lot had happened over the last few months to change Jessica's perceptions on Capitol life. Not that she'd ever especially been fond of how she'd been treated growing up, or that she'd liked what happened out in the Districts much, but the last three months had basically been an unending pile of suck for her. First she'd caught tuberculosis. Then her entire District had been destroyed. Two of her mentors were dead. And then they'd thrown her lover in jail for a month, leaving her more lost, more alone than she'd ever felt in her life. It was easy to see that she was somber looking, but at least she wasn't on death's door anymore.

She arrived at Wayne Manor with her work cut out for her. With Barbie's assets frozen, he couldn't get gifts for anyone in One. She had to pull double the sponsors, just in case his people needed him. And with so many of her own tributes unsponsorable, she had to find a way to scheme and make sure someone in her District won. For her. For Three.

It wasn't long after she entered that she was spotted - and Bruce came rolling up to her (rolling? Ah, yes, his shining, glowing dress shoes seem to have wheels in the soles) with a bright smile on his face.

"You look great," he opened with, voice warm and welcome as it ever was. He placed his hand on her arm in a friendly fashion, body language open and easy. His grin shone in the blacklights, over-white teeth glowing like a star. Bruce was always like this at these parties...he treated everyone at the outset like a good friend, even if he knew they were only looking for money. Something about that smile just never touched his eyes, though. His eyes are as steely and serious as ever.

"Welcome to the party."

Edited 2014-08-22 17:12 (UTC)

Jessica smiled brightly turning to face him, ready to play the part of the charming, vivacious social butterfly. There was schmoozing to do, and more importantly than that, she knew that Bruce Wayne was good people. If anyone might be plucked for a bit of sympathy or cash, it was definitely him.

"Thanks. You've really outdone yourself." She gave a flirtatious laugh. "I hope I didn't arrive too late or anything. It looks like this place is in full swing already."

"People keep saying that, but this is less me outdoing myself and more me outdoing all the other parties happening tonight."

A light laugh - and his smile warmed a click. He remembered Jessica. They had had dealings before, and he had offered up to her a sympathetic ear and a bit of relaxation while things were rough. She seemed to be doing all right for herself these days; or at least, she was doing as well as anyone in her situation could be doing.

"Impossible - you can never arrive too late to one of my parties. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too." Jessica gave a small twirl, to show off her legs and other assets, to let Bruce and anyone else who might be watching get a good look. "It's always a treat to get an invitation to one of the nicest houses in the Capitol. I swear, it feels like forever since I've been out this way. Are you holding everything down alright?"

Their conversation seemed innocuous, to be sure, but there was a veiled lair of something else to it.

The undercurrent of the conversation was, of course, not at all lost on Bruce. He reached out to gently place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light, fond squeeze. Acknowledgement, a silent 'yes' to the true meaning of the question.

Out loud, his answer was easier for the Capitol to swallow.

"I am. Never a dull moment for the guy with the money, you know? Seems like there's something new to fund every day."

Her smile at that moment betrayed an excited anticipation she didn't dare articulate just then. She knew there was a reason she'd always liked Bruce Wayne. It was moments like this when she got that reminder loud and clear.

"My thoughts exactly." She didn't quite bat her eyes at him. Not quite. "As a matter of fact, I have a proposal I was hoping you'd consider."

"That's a sentiment you don't hear often these days."

Azula was there, as she always seemed to be at these Capitol Affairs. Tonight she was clad in a slinky black dress that had ribbons of glowing blue neon tracing along key points making her look like a she had stepped out of the machinery that kept the power plants of District Five alive. The blue streaks almost seemed to crackle with energy like the bracelet on her wrist which had a single bolt of lightning constantly racing around it's insides.

"I would hazard that many citizens think things have gotten much too dark as of late with the mass revolt of Tributes, and the plague before that." she mused out loud as she examined the wine in her glass idly. Then her eyes traced up to Bruce himself and she smiled, but the warmth didn't travel from her lips to her eyes.

Mentor Azula of District five. Notable for a particularly bloody and short arena where she set most of the arena on fire, murdered the other tribute from her district in his sleep and only won because a bolt of lightning struck the tribute that was about to kill her in the end. What had seemed like brilliant luck made sense given the tribute had been holding a sword above his head in a thunderstorm but it was still somewhat of a scandalous rumor that the game makers had let her win.

She'd spent a year as the new victor but checked herself into a rehabilitation clinic before the next hunger games and hadn't been seen for years. She'd only just returned to the Capitol in the last year to serve as Mentor for District five and had so far proven apt at it.

Ah, yes. Bruce was familiar with Azula. Strong woman, cutthroat, good mind to match. As he was addressed, he looked to her with a smile that similarly did not reach his eyes. His smiles rarely did.

"Either we make ourselves comfortable in the dark, or we cry and struggle to get the lights back on." His tone was friendly, but matter-of-fact - glad to be settling into a serious conversation instead of more sycophantic blabber. "I've been comfortable in the dark since I was a kid. I wouldn't be nearly as well-adjusted as I am now if I didn't learn to live with it. The plague was terrible, and what happened to District 3 was tragic. But I can't blame the Tributes for trying to take a stand. They're just trying to find their way in the dark, too."

He sipped from his drink, pushing his free hand into his pocket.

Her smile warmed about two degrees and she adjusted her position by two steps to bring herself closer to him.

"As any tribute can tell you of course, the darkness can be terrifying if you don't make it your own." She agreed. "No one knows what lurks unseen in the shadows, but in turn that makes it easier to hide from things that might be looking to hurt you."

It wasn't particularly ground breaking or thought provoking, but the other Capitolites around them seemed amazed by the thought. They weren't in the habit of deep thinking.

"I like to think that the tributes of my district have all found themselves at home in the darkness...though Shepard sometimes provides her own nightlights."

This was met with chuckles and smiles as it was no secret that Commander Shepard's eyes and scars were known to glow at times.

The joke was met with a very soft snort from Bruce. In a more vapid conversation, he was given to raucous laughter and witty banter - but for a talk that touched more on his real demeanor, he wasn't so quick to chuckle.

"I think most Tributes find their way eventually. I admire each and every one for the resilience it takes to fight at all. I just wish the fighting wasn't necessary. Not like this." A bejeweled hand vaguely gestured over to where the tiny screening area was, swiping through the air with disdain.

Bruce didn't bother to nurse his drink - it was half-gone already, but he wasn't showing any signs of stumbling. He took another swallow from it, blue eyes showing his level of attention more than his body language would ever tell.

Edited 2014-09-08 07:55 (UTC)

"Well of course dear we all wish it hadn't had to come to this. But the districts forced the Capitol's hand all those many years ago. And without constant reinforcement those old mistakes might come back in new and unfortunate ways." She parroted back an old bit of logic but her delivery lacked the enthusiasm of someone who actually believed or cared in the words she was saying.

"If anything the Districts ought to be most grateful for these volunteers from other worlds standing in so their children aren't as threatened. All things considered it's a win, win situation...at least for those who were born in this world."

He was an interesting man this Bruce Wayne. His mannerisms were unusual for someone of the upper class in Azula's experience. It didn't like with his reputation entirely...though he drank like a fish he was sturdy like a statue.

The sarcasm isn't lost on Bruce - he rolls his eyes at the old diatribe, taking no pains whatsoever to hide his disgust at the logic.

"Because ripping families apart is so much better at making all the Districts not hate us in the Capitol more. The new Games prevent that from happening, sure - but instead, now we've got people being made to die over and over again. For our entertainment. People who weren't even involved in the first place."

With another gulp, the glass is drained and set aside. "I can recognize that life isn't fair one way or the other - but being needlessly cruel? It's pointless."

Not a flinch. Not a waver. Bruce is a man who plainly isn't about to back down on his opinions, however outlandish they may be considered.

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[OPEN] Back door cracked, we don't need a key -

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Feel free to hit up his CR thing in his journal if you want them to have known each other!

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open;

Heyyyy if you want them to have met before, hit up the CR chart in his journal?

(yea) on it!

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i'm so sorry for the lateness, feel free to ignore this.

Nahhhh I'm slow as hell anyway.

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