thecapitol | The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

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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.

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Albert supposes he should be grateful that he doesn't have to deal with the prison part of the theme terribly much. They still flash his name on the screen with a surly looking mug shot and a list of crimes - theft, incitement to riot, assault, attempted murder, manslaughter, murder in the second degree, murder in the first degree, possession of a concealed weapon, possession of weapons of mass destruction, being a weapon of mass destruction... - but at least he's not in stripes with a number tattoo. That anyone is dressed like that gets his hackles up, but he knows he can't cause any kind of scene, especially not being at the victor's table for whatever fool reason the Capitol's concocted.

Really though his own outfit is distracting enough to take his mind off the rest of the party. It's not that he's uncomfortable with his body, he's fit and no longer has any of the cyborg parts that he hazards the Capitol would state as his reason for being at this table, but he'd really rather only show it off on his terms. These are not his terms.

So he'll just down another glass of champagne, wish it were beer or something harder instead, and try to look as unassuming as possible.

"After every one of these, I wonder if victory is really even worth it..." he mutters to himself between glasses.

Clara's seen Albert around, of course. She's seen just about all the other Tributes around at one point or another. But just because she's seen him around doesn't change the fact that he's pretty much a complete stranger to her and that, while she wouldn't say he's unwelcome at the table, the idea of meeting someone for the first in a situation like this is a little daunting.

She's sipping from her glass of champagne when she overhears him and debates not saying anything at first. The Capitol has eyes and ears everywhere, so it would make sense for them to be listening to this conversation. But she can't help it, whether it's because of her own lack of self control or because of the third glass of champagne that she's sipping from.

"I doubt it is," she says quietly, "Honestly, it scares me a little bit."

He hadn't meant for Clara to overhear him, especially not Clara. She's the one facing it after all. "I'm sorry, I did't mean... It's better on some level, not having to face the arena again. And after your first one."

He doesn't want to call her lucky; there were those who made it happen, it had little to do with luck, and she'd lost her hand and eye. No, that's not luck.

Albert's gaze - though unseen thanks to the visor - goes to her prosthetic. "I know this may be forward so you're under no obligation to answer, but... the replacement hand, have you had any trouble with it?"

Being a former cyborg himself, he knows a few things about having to learn to use cybernetic limbs. He doesn't know how good the Capitol's technology is in that regard, but at the very least he can help Clara with the knowledge that someone understands and sympathizes. It should be Alex, but from what Jet has told him, Alex is... there's something wrong there.

Clara isn't quite sure she believes that yet, no matter how many people she's sure think it's better that she's out of the Arena now. It's not worth bringing up that she had plans to anyone at this point. "I guess," she says quietly. "I just wish someone more deserving had won."

Like one of the kids. Or Alex. Or Carlos. Or anyone other than her.

"Not really." As if it's almost out of reflex, she covers her cybernetic right hand with her left hand. "I'm lucky, Dr. Norton's known for being at the top of his field back home. Mostly I've just been trying to adjust to it." The way it feels is still astoundingly weird, more like an awareness that it's there and that it's doing things compared to the way her own hand felt. "Why do you ask?"

It's an attitude he can understand, but knowing what he does of Clara's background, which is admittedly little and gathered from Capitol propaganda toned down to logical levels, he doubts she would have lasted long in terms of sanity, having to murder or be murdered over and over. She's a housewife, not a gladiator or a soldier. He keeps that estimation to himself, though. It's insulting to be said out loud.

"I had something like it, once. More extensive, but I thought you might want someone to talk to about it who understands phantom pains and the disconnect between what used to be there and what's there now." He smiles a little, gentle and coaxing, trying to let her know there's no harm to be had from him.

It's a good thing he doesn't say it out loud. While Clara's willing to get confrontational over certain things, like the fact that she probably could have come through more Arenas relatively mentally unscathed, she doesn't want to do that here and now. Especially not after having a couple glasses of champagne.

"Oh, um, thank you." Truth be told, it's one of those things that Clara would love to avoid talking about for the most part. She's seen the pitying looks and the too-long glances at the hand that she knows they could have made look a little more natural instead of ensuring it looked metallic. In fact, she's half tempted to brush Albert off, except for the fact that...yeah, talking to someone who understands would actually be kind of nice. "I'm still getting used to looking down and seeing this," she says with a little waggle of her robotic fingers, "instead of my hand." At least it isn't as jarring as looking down and seeing nothing there (or automatically reaching out to grab something and seeing a bandaged stump like she had in the first week she was out of the Arena. "I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually." She isn't sure if that is or isn't overshare.

"Eventually you will. I wore gloves, which helped a little, especially with the metal hand being cold." If Albert thought it was oversharing, he makes no sign, responding to her evenly with advice from his own experience.

"The technology here in the Capitol is very advanced though. Hopefully you're not in any pain around the connection point because of that?" He remembers his own, stretching and stinging where metal met flesh, and the bones deep ache that never really went away, but his cybernetics were older and covered his entire body, not to mention being heavier because of the weapons involved. He hopes he's right in thinking that aside from some soreness, she's alright in that regard.

"I'll keep that in mind." A small smile creeps onto her face. "Though I'm not sure how the stylists are going to react to that since they really seem to be enjoying getting to do things with the newest fad," she says as she lets out a small laugh. "At least someone's getting something out of it."

It barely hurts at this point. Really, the little bit it does can't even compare to the way it hurt after Black Tom cut it off or how it felt in the first day or so after Dr. Norton had...installed? attached? she still isn't sure what the technical term is...it. "No, no pain. More than anything, it's weird how numb it is. It's a weird disconnect, wiggling my fingers and seeing it, but barely feeling it." Is there a polite way to ask what she wants to ask him? Maybe she should just hold off and ask Alex, but she isn't quite sure if she wants to hear his answer to it. "Do you ever get used to it?"

"Something else will come along to distract them soon, I'm sure. It's the nature of this place." He tries not to sound too sour, considering their company, and mostly succeeds.

"There is the possibility of sensors to get some feeling back. The technology has developed to a point where artificial sensors can hook into the already existing neural pathways. It's how mine functioned. While I couldn't feel temperature save for at extremes, I could feel pressure and texture. Though I fully understand not wanting to go in for another surgery. The Capitolites can be... overzealous in their generosity." A politic way of saying they could easily 'upgrade' her in ways she may not want considering their blasé attitude towards free will and physical sovereignty.

Her question makes him think, idly running his index finger once around the top of his glass. "Yes and no. Eventually you learn to adjust and the changes that now seem difficult and unnatural turn to reflex, but at least for me, I was always very aware of which parts were synthetic."

Albert meets her good and glass eye with his own blank white ones. "I'm sorry if that's not the answer you wanted to hear."

"Oh, joy." While Clara has a fondness for clothes and trying to keep up with the trends, the way fashion works in the Capitol still confuses her, despite being friends with Jolie.

"It's fine," she says giving him a slightly melancholy smile. "I'd rather hear the truth."

"I'll consider bringing the sensors up with Dr. Norton at some point." And only him. There's not a chance that she'll willingly let the Capitol perform surgery on her since she's fairly certain they'd try to go a step further and she isn't overly fond of the thought of waking up with horns (or, more likely considering some of the newer Tributes she's seen around, wings). "Though I think I may put it off for a little while so I can get used to it first." Clara forces a smile on her face that she hopes doesn't come across as bitter. "Maybe once someone else is the Capitol's darling so I don't have to worry about them giving me talons or something in the name of fashion."

"Probably for the best." He goes back to his wine, distinctly uncomfortable but still somehow open, willing to share and speak about some of the worst aspects of his life just out of sympathy. It's a new feeling for him, to be so candid about his cybernetics, but there's something at least a little freeing about it even insofar as it makes him cringe.

"I am curious though. Alex is your husband, isn't he? Shouldn't he be..." supporting you? Telling you this? Albert trails off, certain he's crossed some kind of line with the question.

Clara lets out a small, half-hearted laugh as a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes grows on her face. She wishes Alex was the one having this kind of conversation with her instead of the awkward, painful distance that's grown between them since the Arena. No, instead the only things he's said to her about her hand was him offering up his congratulations.

"He is, but things between us are currently..." she trails off, unsure how to say it. "With the neurosuppression the Capitol's put him under, it's difficult to talk to him about this." Or anything, really. "Things are kind of strained between us right now."

"Neurosuppression," it's not a question. He knows exactly what that is, if the tone of condemnation and sympathy in his voice is any indication. Black Ghost had been experimenting with it but they found it interfered with the cyborg's use of their augmented abilities, as well as their judgement in battlefield scenarios. Ultimately, they'd scrapped that idea and used intimidation and restraints to try and contain their unwilling experiments. Unsuccessfully, thank goodness, but Albert still has nightmares sometimes of what they could have been. Perfect killing machines with less than a shred of humanity left, trapped in controlled bodies and suppressed minds.

Clara's just informed him that Alex is literally one of Albert's worst nightmares.

"I'm so sorry..."

Clara's gotten a lot of sympathy directed towards her since the bombing. People who were sure that she was going to be a widow or people who took pity on her because her life had changed so radically in so short a time. None of that comes close to what she hears in Albert's voice. She can't be sure if it's because it's something he's encountered in the past or has been under it himself since no one acts like that without being familiar without being touched by trauma. "Thank you."

Would it be rude of her to pry right back? Generally she'd just try to keep her mouth shut and guide the conversation back to a lighter place. Instead she just charges on ahead. "I take it that you're familiar with it." There's almost a hint of a question in her words, as if she's trying to ask him if he knows of ways to bring Alex out from it. She knows it's possible, that apparently her approaching Alex in Detroit and bringing up David was enough to plant the seeds there. But she knows that things are different here, and that probably won't work.

"I am, yes." His lips press together hard enough to drain them of color for a moment, jaw clenching. "It was attempted on my family and I a long time ago. They decided it wasn't worth the losses it posed in terms of controlling our cybernetic abilities, but I was under it for a short time."

He doesn't explain how it felt, doesn't get into the details of being trapped in the back of your mind, watching things happen that your body is doing but unable to facilitate or affect it at all. No one needs to know the details of that nightmare.

"It's not his fault, then. If you do need to talk about it though, I'm willing since he can't." He places is hand on her flesh and blood one, a gentle motion of understanding and solidarity.

It's almost like her blood turns to ice in her veins, even though Albert spares her all the excruciating details. She understands that Dr. Norton had his reasons for neurosuppressing Alex in Detroit, from what he told her. That he was pressured because of OmniCorp's deadline and that he regrets what he did. That the only reason it even stuck was because Sellars and his people refused to take Alex off the streets because it would be a bad business decision.

She's always thought that, really, it was a worst case scenario. Finding out what Albert and his family went through is proof that it could've been much worse. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's not," she says, almost more to herself than him. From how highly Alex has spoken of the suppression and how much supposedly better it's made him, on some level it's sometimes hard to remember that he didn't choose it and had it forced on him. "He's never really had a chance to make a choice about any of this, really." No, she had to choose, or Dr. Norton, or the Capitol. Never Alex, which isn't fair in any way and she still can't help but feel guilty for her hand in starting Alex down this path.

"Thank you, I'll have to take you up on that sometime." She gives him a small, sad smile, appreciating the gesture.

"Any time." He squeezes her hand gently, then withdraws, not wanting to smother her or cause more upset. Even if he would be perfectly stable as a shoulder to cry on, she can't do so in front of the cameras at her own Crowning.

And for Alex... If possible, the man terrifies him even more in having it confirmed it was all done without his person consent. He can't imagine what exactly had to lead to Alex becoming the near automaton he is now. With a breath, Albert rises to his feet from the table, feeling antsy and wanting to find his fiance. "Would you like me to go refresh your drink?"

He knows he's giving the appearance of running, leaving Clara to his own devices after he's just offered to help. The offer of a drink is reassurance that he will come back if she wants him to.

If she knew the reason behind why he's choosing to withdraw from the conversation, she would be eternally grateful. Either way, she's already glad to know that there's someone in this place who she can talk to about these sorts of things who understands and won't stonewall her like Alex or give her that guilty 'I'm sorry for part I had in turning your life into a complete trainwreck' look like Dr. Norton would.

If he ever asked, Clara could fill in some of those holes, but not all of them. At least tell him about what happened in Detroit to the best of her knowledge (or have Dr. Norton tell him since he has more answers than she does). But at the same time, she'd love to know what provoked the Capitol to do this to Alex. She can't help but wonder if they overheard her and Alex talking after the destruction of District 3 and if that had anything to do with it.

"No thank you," she says with a small shake of her head. "I think if I have anything else to drink...I'd prefer to keep my head as clear as possible." She can tell he's antsy, it's a look she knows well after years of being a wife and a mother, even if he wears it differently than Alex or David ever has. "Enjoy the party," she doesn't mean to sound at all sarcastic, though she's well aware that there's an edge of it in her voice.

Given his bill of leave, Albert smiles sympathetically and pats her shoulder gently before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

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The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

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Shortest closure ever