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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For a few minutes, indeed. It's not long after Clara sits down that a teen in gaudy leather wanders by, shuffling and bouncing to the beat of the first, more tranquil song on the speakers, humming nonsense as he goes. There are no troubles in Gary's life at this moment--and if there are, he is doing a very good job of pretending they don't exist.

Perhaps unfortunately for Clara, no amount of blissful ignorance can keep Gary from recognizing the main event, so to speak. He does a slight double-take while passing and twists to face her, but doesn't actually stop walking. "I guess that chair is pretty uncomfortable, isn't it?" he says with a shrug. "I'd want to take a break from it, too."

"It's comfier than it looks," she says with a small ghost of a smile. And really, that isn't saying much considering it looks like something out of a cyberpunk nightmare. "But it really isn't my style." Yes, because talking about personal tastes in horrific furniture is an excellent ice breaker.

"I haven't really seen you around before today. Are you new?"

Gary couldn't agree more! Awkward as it is, the teen is quite happy with Clara's relatively friendly response; he feels like he's had to really work to get people to open up to him at this party in particular, and it's nice to see someone who is casual on the outset. Hopefully this trend continues.

"Yeah," he nods--still slowly dancing his way backwards along the path. He's going to have to turn the corner soon, but he'll deal with that when he gets there. "They found me at the tail end of your arena, I think. How many have you been in?"

Truth be told, in another time and another place, Clara tended to be this open. It's something about living in the Capitol that's made her incredibly careful about what she says and who she says things to. But this is closer to small talk than anything else and she can be fairly open.

"Two of the regular ones and one of the day long ones," she says, beginning to feel guilty that she got out this quickly when she didn't even want to, while there were people who've been here for so much longer than her who were still trying to win. "I'm sorry they brought you here." That seems like the right thing to say, all things considered.

"Don't worry about it!" This is a genuine demand. If Gary doesn't worry about being here, why should others worry about it in his stead? He changes that subject quickly. "There are day-long arenas? What's the--oh. Gimmie a sec."

He's reached the corner. The practical thing to do here would be to simply stop dancing and talk to Clara like a normal person, but Gary opts instead to take the turn going backwards, disappear around the garden center, and wait until he makes the return circuit to continue this conversation.

Clara can't just help but watch in confused amusement as the boy dances away. Is this normal where he's from? Do people usually just cut off mid-sentence to dance? Or is this just something he does.

"Yeah, I was in the one before this last Arena." And won that one too, not that it meant anything. God, she wishes it had. There probably wouldn't be a huge ceremony that pried into her personal life. And she'd still have her hand and eye, for that matter. "I'm Clara by the way." Though she's pretty sure he already knows that. "What's your name?"

Gary does what Gary likes, and at the moment that means he's going to dance his way around this garden and he's not gonna stop for anything. At least he can still hear Clara from the other side.

"Gary!" he calls from somewhere behind the ornate topiary. "Nice to meet you, Clara. What are those little Arenas like? Do they still have themes?"

"It's a pleasure, Gary." Though she wishes it was under better circumstances. Though that could be said about just about everyone she's met here.

"Yup." Or at least she thinks so since she's only been here for the one she was in. "The one I was in was on a ship. It was like Titanic, only with sharks."

"Neat!" At this point Gary is making his way back around the first corner, still dancing backwards. He's...yes, he's been doing this the entire time. No reason. "Doesn't sound very little, but I guess they don't pull any punches around here when it comes to, ah..." He makes vague gestures at the main building. "...these kinds of events."

Gary realizes that he'll be passing Clara soon, so to avoid a situation like last time, he offers a hand on his way. "Come on," he whispers with a grin, "it'll be easier this way."

Clara can think of plenty of words to describe the ship mini-Arena. Neat is not one of them, though she doesn't say that. "Well, it was much shorter. Only a day instead of a few weeks or months like the full ones. And no one who won that one counted as a Victor." Which she's still a little angry about, both on her part and Clementine's.

She mentally debates it for a second. She'd feel a little guilty about leaving the pair of shoes behind, but she's fairly certain that no one would bother stealing them if they did come in. "Oh, why not," she says as she stands and takes his hand with her cybernetic hand. For the briefest moment she debates snatching it away out of self-consciousness, but doesn't so as not to appear rude.

"That's the idea!" Gary accepts Clara's hand with a grin and tugs her along. The dancing continues, now forward-facing and with a bit more hip. He is an astoundingly bad dancer. "Too bad about those little Arenas, I guess. Maybe they're for practice or something."

A pause.

...Okay, he can't not ask. "Is your hand really metal, or is that part of the costume?"

"I think they're more for the Capitol's amusement than practice." Honestly, this is kind of hilarious, if a little bittersweet, for Clara. She's a decent dancer. Not enough that she'd ever be able to place in a competition with professionals, but enough that she can make it look good. Especially things like ballroom and swing dancing. This is not ballroom or swing though, this is something like the bastard child of club dancing and...something else, she isn't sure.

His question almost stops her dead in her tracks. She isn't sure if it's because of how forward he is about it or that it just takes her by surprise, but instead of freezing up or trying to draw the focus to another subject, she replies right away. "It's really metal. It's...kind of a long story."

"Oh." Gary nods, thoughtfully, and ponders for a moment. The end result is probably not expected, but given Gary's general attitude, might not be so surprising in retrospect. "Cool! Is that--" he makes some vague sweeping gestures at his face. "--same with the eye, too?"

That isn't the reaction that Clara was expecting. At some point, when she's somewhat more adjusted to this, she might be able to agree that it's kind of cool. For right now she just stays silent, not telling him just how cool she doesn't find her current situation. "Well, the eye's glass, but...yes."

Gary waves a dismissive hand. "Close enough. Like a pirate or something!" This is...there are no words. Gary is completely oblivious to everything sensible right now. "Neat! The Panem guys gave them to you, right?"

Despite herself, Clara can't help but laugh a little bit at his enthusiasm about her situation. "I think I live up to that a little bit more when I'm wearing an eyepatch." She's already been sent some art that goes from cute and kind of sweet because someone took their time to draw her to...well, outright pornographic (sometimes involving Rose and/or Alex, and one that she almost burned because it involved Black Tom) that depicts her as an actual pirate with an eyepatch and a hook instead of her current hand. "They gave me the glass eye. The hand was designed by a Tribute who I know from home who specializes in this sort of thing." Not that she's going to say anything else about that, though she's fairly certain Gary's going to pry into that too.

Perhaps for the better, Gary does not pry. Not yet. Some other mental image has his attention and is far more entertaining to him than the gritty details of Clara's prosthetic hand. "You mean I'm missing out on a pirate-themed party right now?" Gary huffs in mock irritation. "All you needed was a hook and an eyepatch and this whole thing would've been instant gold. Seriously."

Clearly Gary and the mysterious Capitolite fanartist are operating on similar wavelengths. This probably does not speak well for Gary.

Which suits Clara just fine because, out of all the things she can talk about, sharing all the details of the week and change she had to wait to get her new hand and adjusting to it are at the bottom of her list. "I'm sure they'll find someone to have a pirate-themed party for." And really, that's a party she'd much rather be at instead of the one where they keep dangling her son in front of her and talking shit about her hometown.

"Anyways, I'm sure they would've made the eyepatches mandatory for everyone and then they'd officially become uncool." Which is the worst silver lining, sorry.

Gary pretends to look shocked. Considering that they're still dancing around the garden, and he's trying to guide Clara into an improvised spin, maintaining any sort of serious ('serious' in the largest air-quotes imaginable) conversation is actually kind of difficult. Gary manages.

"Never," he gasps in mock horror. "If they ever went out of style, I'd bring them back in vogue." A beat. It seems that Gary has an idea. "--Designer eyepatches. Can you imagine?"

Clara's used to dancing. Hell, she's used to following someone's lead while dancing, even if her usual partner wasn't always the greatest dancer, so she practically glides into the spin like someone who's done this a number of times.

Though, admittedly, she's not so used to her dancing having this much conversation to it, but she can deal.

"Molotov might be grumpy about yet another Tribute stealing her look," Clara says with a laugh before smirking just the slightest bit. "I don't have to imagine, they're already a thing. I already have a bit of a collection." Mostly from Jolie, though a few of the Capitol's hotshot designers have sent her some as gifts for her recent victory (and the free advertisement).

Gary uses his free hand to snap his fingers, distraught at this news. "Damn! Here I thought I could bring it back and make some cash, you know?" He frowns with lips pursed while he takes a moment to think. "...You know. You're a Victor. Is Molotov? 'Cause I bet you could pull it off so much better than she could."

He has no idea who Molotov is, but that's never discouraged Gary from this kind of behavior in the past.

"You could always try to design some yourself. I'm sure the Capitol's fashionistas would love to get their hands on a Tribute-designed eyepatch." Truthfully, it's not a terrible idea. Design something, sell it to the (usually) Tribute-adoring public, and make some money to get something resembling financial independence in the Capitol.

"I'm a Victor because of sheer dumb luck. She's a woman who seems like she's capable of killing a man twice her size with her pinkie without breaking a sweat." Okay, that might be an overexaggeration, but Clara wouldn't be all that surprised if it happened.

"Maybe," Gary offers with an exaggerated shrug, glancing at the sky like he's asking it to provide him with a decent consolation. Thankfully, the default qualification comes easy to him. "But she's not nearly as pretty as you are."

This is something of a gamble--Molotov could be drop-dead gorgeous and he could be walking into a trap of his own making--but Gary is hardly a thinking type of child. He sees no way this could go wrong until it happens to go wrong.

Clara's fairly confident when it comes to her looks. Even then, she knows that she pales in comparison to Molotov 'Actual Knockout' Cocktease. "Oh, so you're a suck up then," she says with a grin. "I'm guessing you haven't seen her yet. Tall, straight, red hair, has an eyepatch. Does any of that ring a bell?"

Gary grins back because he has no shame. "Maybe, maybe not," he teases with a knowing tap of his nose. "Point is, we're throwing this huge-ass party for you, and not for her. That's gotta mean something, right?"

The answer to Clara's question about being a suck-up goes unspoken, but is still an obvious, resounding 'yes.'

The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

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