etcircenses: (Default)
Panem Events ([personal profile] etcircenses) wrote in [community profile] thecapitol2014-10-10 08:11 pm

The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of Clara Murphy
Where| A refurbished former-medical building within Capitol. 
When| Starting from late afternoon, going into the evening and late night.
Warnings/Notes| Don't forget, peacekeepers are on high alert and will notice any rebellious activity or odd behaviour. 

The theme of the ceremony is corruption and dystopia, with a distinct nod to futuristic aspects and, of course, robots. The room is stark, clean, and foreboding, all done in metallics, crisp whites, and the occasional bit of robotics set up as art. It speaks as an unholy cross between a medical office, a military base, and an extremely well kept prison.

The ceremony is both a chance for Capitolites to have fun and be grateful for the grand and glorious Panem which in no way exemplifies any attributes of dystopia, while also working as a not so subtle reminder to the troublemakers out there of what can happen when things get out of line. Which they surely won't, with all the peacekeepers around.

Tributes are dressed in all manner of thing incorporating chains, rope, caution tape, muzzles, bars and cages, prison stripes, and uniform orange-- all things reminiscent of imprisonment and restriction. Some tributes may be made to look scuffed up, like cartoon-ish depictions of hardened thugs. There are a few references to robotics, and that of evil and corrupt military men and police officers, but all tributes will be marked by some manner of cuff or chain that clearly denotes them as “criminals”.

They’ll also be given a “prison number” that is actually indicative of their district association and an arbitrary letter next to it, for example, someone from district six will have 06 and the first letter of their name. It will be temporarily tattooed somewhere visible on their skin. It can be washed off but it will take more scrubbing than would be done in a single day, let alone a crowning.

The only exceptions to these rules, are those who have been brought to the winner’s table; all those who can be deemed as cyborgs, scientists, and of course, the victor herself. Her throne sits at the head of the table, a robotic contraption that appears almost as though it might encase her. For a crown, Clara has been given one that seems to bear resemblance to a white picket fence, which, when made into a crown, looks far sharper than the idyllic home setting it’s meant to represent.

Avoxes are all dressed as members of the corrupt Detroit military police. The uniforms are naturally given a more sinister edge. None of them are comfortable. All of them are serving “Detriotto” staple foods.

Around the crowning, flat hologram projections of hockey games can be seen. They show the games of a team called “The Rouge Wings” and alternate that with the less spectacular showings of what appears to be a young boy’s hockey team. Commercials fill the times between promoting the work of Capitol’s peacekeepers, showing appreciation for them on an individual level, encouraging obedience in citizens with pleasant clips of peacekeepers speaking to children, and suggesting recruitment in the truly good and noble of Panem. Capitolites may nod along to these as they giggle at the sight of decorative signs, that are most certainly from Clara’s lesser world, about obeying, consuming, and so on, to a less than favourable government. A few posters feature Clara Murphy’s face in four colour palettes, all humorous jabs at dystopia proclaiming; “MOTHER MURPHY IS WATCHING YOU”.

But hockey games are not the only things that can be seen on the projection screens; if tributes take the time to look, they may see their own face projected above in profile and facing forward views like that of mug shots. Though, how the capitol has managed to get these pictures may be entirely a mystery. Besides these mugshots, criminal records are displayed, listing crimes from “lied to their parents” to petty theft to murder. Whether these records are true or not may be up for much debate.

In the mean time, there are plenty of things for party go-ers to do, such as take part in the David For A Day egg and spoon race, in which tributes will all have a chance to dress up (with wigs and matching clothing of all sizes!) as the mysterious David, compete against others, and should they win, be dubbed David For A Day, winning themselves a banner they can wear and a spot at the victor table.

There is also an obstacle course available dubbed the "Clarence Boddicker Memorial Prison Funhouse" designed to look, you guessed it, like a prison. Fun for all ages and demeanours!

For those looking for retreat, there’s a small section cut away from it all, designed to be a pleasant backyard patio setting opened to a starry night sky and small surrounding garden, in stark contrast to the rest of the place. There’s a small area for dancing in, that can really only accommodate one couple at a time, but is nevertheless perfect for a romantic scene. Only two songs play over speakers here, one perfectly fitting, the other a little more jarring. It’s also here that party go-ers can get their picture taken with a life sized ED-209. Many more much smaller ED-209’s can be seen around and within the crowning party. As well as the occasional roomba, which fans of the last arena will surely get a chuckle out of.

As the crowning nears it’s end, those at the victor’s table will be given paintball guns filled up with red paint. They will be ordered to bring the criminals to justice! The criminals being all the other tributes. Those hit with paint will be made to wait within the Memorial Prison Funhouse until all the criminals are apprehended and forced to do their time! No one will be allowed to go back to the tribute tower until all the criminals are caught.
molotov: (listening)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-19 11:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Her skin is cold to the touch, a sign of how long she's been sitting out here alone, avoiding people and the party, like a wounded animal, even if it's only emotional.

She presses her face to his side and nods, seeking refuge in his hold, trying to stop feeling hurt. It's difficult, having feelings, and she wishes that they would just stop forever.

"I need to kill him," she mumbles, "but I don't know if I can bring myself to do it knowing that he will come back. I want to do it in the Capitol, but I have to wait for the right moment."
pimpcanes: (Basic - Curly Mustache)

[personal profile] pimpcanes 2014-10-19 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
The more they talk, the more Tom feels like he's found a like spirit in her, and the more terrifying that is. He presumed they were equals when they met, that any hold she had on him was one that he was willingly succumbing to. He may have been mistaken.

Some people can let go of a romantic entanglement. Some people, like Tom and Molotov, just learn to dress the wounds.

"Then I'll do it in the Arena until you find your chance in the Capitol. I'm sure I'll find it satisfying too." He strokes her hair a bit. "I don't imagine you need any advice on how to assassinate someone, but my resources are your resources."
aintyourdad: (Default)

[personal profile] aintyourdad 2014-10-19 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Joel raises his eyebrows at the other man - not having the impression that this guy has ever lived in a world without much privation, it surprises him a bit.

"I'm happy makin' them myself but you'd think they'd have more around here, what with all this money."
aintyourdad: (Default)

[personal profile] aintyourdad 2014-10-19 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
"Outside the Zone? More than three spells danger. Hell, even inside the Zone, you get more'n a handful of people together in one place and the military gets suspicious," Joel says with a faint snort.

"Makes my skin itch, bein' around this kinda crowd all the time."
molotov: (ink.)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-19 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Molotov wraps her arms around him tightly, clutching at him with her fingers. If she were thinking more clearly, it would scare her how happy he makes her, a real happiness that hasn't existed in her for a very long time now. When she reflects back on everything, sober, it'll make her question herself, ask whether risking the hurt again is worth it.

She nods again, sighs, and closes her eye, resting against him. "Brock Samson," she says simply. "6'8", stupid curly blond hair, acts like some kind of wizened cowboy or some shit. Former Marine, now with US secret intelligence."

Probably Tom should know about the fact that Brock is just as dangerous as Molotov, physically, if not moreso, but instead, she yawns and mumbles, "I'm tired, Tom."
silberfuchs: (cybernetics)

[personal profile] silberfuchs 2014-10-19 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm something of a special case." She wants to change the subject. In this case, he'll oblige. "Some of that awful exposé was at least partially true. I was a cyborg, which extended my life considerably."

Especially considering all that was really left was his brain. Everything else was replaced with mechanics and weaponry. Not exactly something he likes to talk about, but the sting of it has worn off in the last decade. He is what he is - or rather, he was what he was. There's no point in fussing about it anymore really.
fiercestwarrior: (ew)

[personal profile] fiercestwarrior 2014-10-19 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)
"That would admittedly make this a more enjoyable feast."

But she suspects that if she were to start throwing punches here, all that would get her is a brand.
fiercestwarrior: (worried)

[personal profile] fiercestwarrior 2014-10-19 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)
"I am fine."

Her short tone is not meant as an insult to Brock, she is merely frustrated with this entire situation, and that is also why there is quite the frown on her face. She is not handling this situation with an overabundance of grace and serenity.

Still, Brock has never done anything to her, so she tries to soften her rejection of his offer a little.

"You are kind to ask."
pimpcanes: (Basic - Chatting It Up)

[personal profile] pimpcanes 2014-10-19 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Damn those giant Americans.

He holds her close, allowing her free realm to make a throne or a nest of his form. He yearns for his powers so he could chase away the chill, the rosy cold flush in her nose and cheeks. And he drafts up an image in his mind of his next target.

"Are you asking me to take you home, dear?"
carnagecarnival: (not so sure about this)

Re: B

[personal profile] carnagecarnival 2014-10-20 12:07 am (UTC)(link)
He jumps, startled. Like she's a ghost, he stares at her. There's fear in him, clear and obvious, but it's not for her attempt to cull.

In his arms he feels the draw of the bow and the arrow's fight. He relives that clearness of mind, everything all gone blank. He hears the arrow's split through the air and the gore sound of piercing flesh and spilling blood. The dawn of having taken life, none of it is unfamiliar to him. But only with her has it been so thoroughly coated in a hundred layers of traitor, traitor, disobeyed, culled a tribute, hurt a tribute, you'll be punished, you will motherfucking pay, everyone you know on will motherfucking pay. Things from which he can't dissociate.

The bottle slips from his hands but he's quick to catch it. Focus, Makara.

"WICKED ELIXIR," He answers, holding tight to it. "You made it back. THAT'S GOOD."
molotov: (i like you)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-20 12:13 am (UTC)(link)
Well, that and Molotov's predilection for giants. Tom should hope her other ex never appears, although he's altogether a more reasonable man, if she must say.

"Mm-hmm," she murmurs tiredly, goosebumps rising on her legs and arms as a breeze floats by. "I hate all these people anyway." She's always cold, between how thin she is and poor circulation that probably comes from two decades of smoking, but she's chillier than usual now (most likely due in part to the choices of her Stylists), her arms absorbing his body heat even as she shifts them to be under his jacket.
pimpcanes: (Basic - Talk Talk Talk)

[personal profile] pimpcanes 2014-10-20 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
Thankfully, limp and all, Tom's a very strong man. People forget that, since he was so often standing next to Cain. Even most bodybuilders would look waifish and piqued next to the Unstoppable Juggernaut.

He lifts her up with relative ease, abandoning the cane and carrying her bridal style towards the exit. An Avox gets an order snapped to call them a limo, and to make sure there's a hot drink waiting for Molotov inside it. And at the curb, he sets her on her feet, although he still shares his jacket with her and has her warm in his embrace.
unjoined: please....please........ (when do we get more ab shots)

[personal profile] unjoined 2014-10-20 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
She laughs at the nudge, glad to see he's not too put out by his itchy costume. Then Korra's eyebrows raise. Oh. She still needs to get used to understanding where this Aang is in life, compared to the older Aang she's met. At this point, he isn't officially introduced as the Avatar. That alone makes a lot of difference between them.

That last part hits home and she nods, sighing. "Not too sure on that either, to be honest. Training for bending was simple, but there's no training for the other stuff." But enough complaining. "Yeah, I've been to a few. Not really expected to go, but sometimes people really want you to, I guess. It's not so bad since people mean well." Usually.

Not many get the chance to talk like this to their past lives. This beats vague, dignified messages by a mile.
molotov: (exhale)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-20 12:54 am (UTC)(link)
Standing, it's more obvious that Molotov sought relief in the form of many, many cocktails. She teeters on sky high, pin-thin stilettos, shoes that are literally shackled to her ankles in gold. She clutches at him to keep from falling, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she waits for the car.

"You're too good to me."
pimpcanes: (Angry - Eugh)

[personal profile] pimpcanes 2014-10-20 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
"You deserve goodness." For his part, he takes a shot of whiskey from a tray as it passes. He's not nearly as inebriated as Molotov, but he certainly hasn't been getting through this party sober. To hell with that.

The Avox he bossed around returns with a hot cider for Molotov, and a cost, but no limo. She makes an apologetic shrug at them both and gives them a printed slip of paper about attendance being mandatory until the paintball game is over.

Tom's face reddens. "What do you mean, we can't leave yet?"
carnagecarnival: (I fall in the sea but forget how to swim)

[personal profile] carnagecarnival 2014-10-20 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
He got it right. Motherfucking nailed it. Bitchin.

He waits patient as she digs for pad and paper, then still more as she draws all upon it. The shape ain't recognizable immediate, being as generic and formless as it is. He can't see he's sure as how humans got deciding it was a seagoat. But the symbol he know off by heart, written up in his pan and push as clear and as much a name as his naming true.

"That's it!" He says, tapping a claw on the symbol. "CAPRICORN. My hatchsymbol. THAT'S THE ONE WHAT'S BEING MINE. Could know it with eyes shut up permanent."

He takes in the shape of the constellation and tries to look up and place it within the great stretch of sky. Of course it's impossible. He doesn't know these stars. But it's out there, he's sure.

There's a sort of strangeness in knowing this may be a constant, to have his stars as theirs above. To know his hatchsymbol like it means something to them. He wonders what it would've been like watching over humans, not of this world but all the same.
molotov: (hm.)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-20 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
Gaze bleary, Molotov accepts the cider and sips at it as she gets into the coat she was brought. It's more of a straitjacket than anything else, but it is, at the very least, warmer than nothing.

"What?" she says, looking at him, cheek pressed to his arm. "What's that mean, why can't we leave, my love?"
carnagecarnival: (Stay.)

[personal profile] carnagecarnival 2014-10-20 01:22 am (UTC)(link)
He laughs a little. It's just a soft quiet thing, piercing through scattered thoughts and feelings. Mr. Blackberry Bonanza. Well, it ain't all bad a naming.

"Then lead he motherfucking ought then, ain't that being right?" He returns, soft.

He gives her hand a small squeeze, moving his other hand to her back. He leads in step, not in time with the music exactly, but a good sway nevertheless. He tries just to focus on this moment. No quadrant trouble, no rebellion, no splitting of selves and his avoxing.

Just her.

His best friend.

He steps back to bring her into a twirl, smile slowly creeping back. He looks upon her in ways what he knows he shouldn't, but does anyway. Fondness, and then some. Maybe a little bit of apology for a thousand different things.
pimpcanes: (Angry - Fists)

[personal profile] pimpcanes 2014-10-20 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
The poor Avox girl can't do anything but continue to shove the paper at them, and so Tom goes back to pretending she doesn't exist. If she's not helping them, there's no good to her.

"The paper says the party doesn't end until this ridiculous game is over. As if we haven't wasted enough time here!" He spitefully tosses his empty shot glass out into the street and continues to help hold her up. It's as if he's only just now realized that they're both really captives. Anger makes his face blotchy, makes his mouth look like it has too many teeth.
carnagecarnival: (For the next time we dance.)

[personal profile] carnagecarnival 2014-10-20 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
He snorts and rolls his eyes. Of course it doesn't taste awful. It's a miracle. But Sollux takes the bottle up anyway and he grins. One point to the Mirthful, he thinks private.

HE shakes his head. "NAW. My kismesis, she. BETTER YOU AIN'T MET HER. She's a right pain in the glutes. THE DEATH OF ALL WHAT'S GOOD. Acts as like she's hot shit what owns you." But ain't that enough romantic gushing all the now.

"ONLY MENTIONED FOR EXAMPLES. Ain't never knowing who's knowing what, ain't that right? LEAST YOU GOT YOUR SHADES THEN, BROTHER."
molotov: (ink.)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-20 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
Even drunk, Molotov is upset by how angry he is, upset in the way that she wants to make him feel better. She rubs at his back, wraps her arms around him and somehow avoids spilling cider all over them.

"Calm down, baby," she murmurs, glaring at the Avox for daring to anger her Tom this way. "Don't be angry, we'll just... we'll just wait." She drops her voice a whisper, nuzzles at his ear. "Don't let them see you this way, don't give them anything negative to talk about."
molotov: (alternate blue)

[personal profile] molotov 2014-10-20 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
"Not all of them." It's said with a shrug. "Some of them still like women. Some like both. But you're free to have them, if you want to be in love so badly."

Molotov chuckles a little, humorlessly. "I have some charms, I've been told."
pimpcanes: (Basic - 8|)

[personal profile] pimpcanes 2014-10-20 01:50 am (UTC)(link)
He doesn't brush her off, and he does take his seething down to a quiet summer, if only because she's right. The audience will see only the temper, not the inherent unfairness of the situation. They won't see how tired he is of prisons, of not being able to come and go as he pleased like some sort of feral cat. They won't see that he's worried to see Molotov bereft of her usual self-possession. He strokes her head and holds her close, his face to her hair, glowering at no one in particular. He sways a little, not because he's drunk or tired but because he likes to hold her, to feel her. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just indignant." His Escort will receive a chewing out.
pythianjudgment: ([n] chitchat)

[personal profile] pythianjudgment 2014-10-20 02:04 am (UTC)(link)
His laugh, small as it is, still brings a wide smile to her lips. Pulling that much out of him is an accomplishment that she's more than willing to take. He deserves a bit of good humor after everything he's been through.

He leads in the dance, and she follows. Her thoughts are a little more occupied than his, despite her efforts not to think about her feelings or his avoxing or any number of other troubles they might have. But the silence hangs between them as they dance, and it's rather difficult not to think.

At least until he twirls her. She spins much more gracefully than she used to, but when she returns, there's a smile on his lips that she hadn't noticed before. It's the same smile that she caught before across the network; the same smile with the same softness to it. Having it directed at her is disarming, making her stomach drop in a way that is confusingly pleasant and terrifying at the same time.

Rather than confront him about it, she ducks her head and bumps it against his chest. "Did you know I'm going to be a flower girl?" she asks, making small talk to distract them both.
carnagecarnival: (I've been waiting.)

[personal profile] carnagecarnival 2014-10-20 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
In his head, a whole other sort of music plays. Something what ain't the songs playing aloud. Something what's her. All gentle breeze and leaf rustling and distant dragon songs and the sound of color. Something good and true and... she's family. She's more family than he's ever had and he knows it's all thank to her that he is this, that he has any of the people he has right now.

It doesn't matter that she's an atheist. It don't matter that they're literally a millenia apart in sweeps of their respective times. It doesn't matter that she's got a whole life and future miraculous, doing such good on things he knows she'll make come, what was never supposed to have him part of it.

She's precious to him. And he can't forgive himself for that mark on her.

When she bumps her head against his chest, he worries she might hear the strain on his pusher. She doesn't it. He blinks, head tilting.

"FLOWER GIRL?" He repeats. "Thought you was a tree girl."
Edited 2014-10-20 02:37 (UTC)