The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

[etcircenses]

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.

Comments

[anachronologistics]

You know. Most of the time he'd expect a girl to take off on her own, not take off with him in tow. The last girl to do such a thing was Jade, and at the time she was taking him somewhere for some more sloppy makeouts Ghostbusters MMORPGing and cake.

Not that he actually expects her to be taking him anywhere for any of that.

"Wow. Okay. Look. I know the whole BDSM get-up we all got going on is kinda misleading here, but the reality is I ain't that easy. I'm gonna need a name before this gets too hot to handle."

[reassures]

Ugh. Bad pickup jokes. She's a little glad he's not being serious.

She stumbles a few times because of the heels she's got on, but Nill doesn't stop until they're in a more crowded part of the crowning, and when she does she quickly pulls out her notepad and pencil, scribbling a note out quickly and holding it up for him to see.

you can't say things like that here.

[anachronologistics]

Far from serious. At this point, he's just incredibly bitchy.

Davesprite watches her write, eyebrow rising high into his hair. For a moment, he's tempted to take the notepad from her and write back.

"Gag order?" But it doesn't take a genius to put two-and-two together. He doesn't give her but a second before he shakes his head (his wings try to shake as well, but all they end up doing is strain against the binding) and crosses his arms. "Nevermind. I get it. The walls have ears or something. It's cool." He points at the lock she had been trying to crack open. This time, when he speaks, his voice is a little lower, making it hard to hear over the din unless you're actively trying to listen to it. "Anyway, you're not gonna get that thing unlocked like that."

[reassures]

She genuinely looks a little relieved that he seems to get it without much explanation or confusion. Not that he didn't deserve more explanation, but when you only had a notepad as your main method of communication, it tended to limit how much you could really say to someone within a certain amount of time.

Nill looks down at her hands, her thumb brushing over the locks for the shackles. They're not tight to the point of restricting blood flow, but her wrists were probably gonna be bruised after this. She pauses, and then finally shrugs a shoulder, one of her wings rising up slightly as she does so, just visible over the top of her shoulder. It doesn't look even remotely comfortable.

I don't know if I'm allowed to take it off.

Though it's not like that makes her want them off any less.

[anachronologistics]

Truth be told, while he wasn't completely sure, he had sort of suspected it. Sort of. It's an unsurprising fact, nonetheless. It makes sense. The real question to ask is exactly how much shit he would be allowed to carry on about before the twist in the Peacekeepers' panties started to chafe their asses to the point of doing anything about it.

Davesprite's expression remains mild as she shrugs and her wing rises. No. That really doesn't look comfortable at fucking all.

"Well we're sorta like federal property, right?" Without thinking, he shrugs as well, and his own wings flex against their bindings to try and do the same. "I mean... if it's between us looking good, or them protecting their federal property from damage before their next shitty murderfest, I'll bank that they'll take plan B anytime."

He doesn't hold his hand out for the pin, though. Because even that sounded stupid in his ears.

[reassures]

While he's talking, Nill tucks her notepad under one arm so that she can put the bobby pin back into her hair, in its original spot holding her bangs partially out of her face.

The way he says it leaves a lot to be desired, and after a pause she pulls her notepad out again. Before she actually starts writing, she glances up at him and shakes her head. This place isn't going to be kind to someone like this guy. She's surprised he still has his wings though when they're so big - someone else was surprised that she still had hers, and hers were small enough to just be extra target space. He might actually be able to use his.

to them we don't count as living beings. they don't care if we're hurt. when we die in the arena they will just bring us back.

Any injuries going in would just be played off as a disadvantage. Cheer for the underdog, they might just overcome that handicap and win the game.

[anachronologistics]

The wings are fucking useless. They don't support his weight in any capacity for flight -- though, in retrospect, it was likely sprite powers that attributed to his ability to fly moreso than the wings -- and they're pretty goddamn cumbersome. And orange, which isn't really regarded as a very subtle color. It means he's an easy target. Davesprite just has an advantage in knowing just how easy a target the wings will make him.

If what she writes bothers him, though, he doesn't show it. If anything, he almost seems... resigned to the fact. There's something in the way that the corner of his mouth purses that almost seems to indicate someone who's seen shit like this before.

"Of course they do. What sort of self-respecting dystopian jamjar murderfest would they be running if they didn't? A pretty shitty one."

Whatever that means, he doesn't explain it. Instead, he tips his head back and waits for his own portrait with its list of crimes to appear.

"You still look like a walking chastity belt. Shit probably feels like a chastity belt, too."

[reassures]

There he goes saying potentially dangerous things again. Nill quickly holds a finger up to jab him in the chest with it, hopefully it'll be a less obvious gesture for him to cut it out without actually needing to touch her finger to her lips. Too blatant a move, the security cameras would probably see easily enough.

you need to be careful.

Her feathers actually ruffle up a little, but they smooth down almost immediately because shit that feels weird and unpleasant.

it feels like being a slave.

She would happily take chastity belt over that.

[anachronologistics]

He doesn't seem very phased by it, outside of his wings flicking as best they can under the restraints.

"Okay, see, you're making it sound like chastity belts are a bad thing. They're only a bad thing if you actually make them out to be. I mean, for all these assholes know, chastity belts are actually a national symbol of my home country, and I'm a top-tier superpatriot whose jacket is so loaded from the window to the wall with honors and medals that it makes the metal detectors fly off the handle when I go through airports."

[reassures]

Good. She doesn't want to do it again, but she can't think of a better way to keep him out of trouble as much as she could.

Her expression is pretty flat when she writes out the next message, and holds it up for him to see.

I would rather wear a chastity belt than feel like a slave.

[anachronologistics]

Hey. No one appointed anyone to be his babysitter.

Davesprite bends down to read it. Again, if what she wrote bothers him -- it does, albeit not for the reasons she might think -- he doesn't show it outside of the way the feathers not tied down seem to puff slightly.

"Well that's better, I guess. Don't diss my heritage."

He crosses his arms to top off the picture of nonchalance, but he figures she knows he's just fucking around.

[reassures]

No one needed to. Nill is more used to looking after dumb kids than she is most things at this point. (Her boyfriend unfortunately included a lot of the time.)

She kind of thinks that must be what he's going for, but truth be told she has no idea what he's talking about. It had to be a joke, she assumes, but she doesn't understand it at all, and mostly just looks confused.

[anachronologistics]

For a moment, it appears like he's just going to let her keep staring at him like that, but then he shrugs a shoulder and lets his eyes sweep across the crowd. He spots the patio in the distance, and cocks his head in its direction.

"Kinda loud in here, don't you think?"

[reassures]

She follows where he's indicating, and when she realizes it's out to a much quieter area Nill looks uncertain. But there are significantly fewer people out there, and after a slight pause she nods, already starting to head over.

[anachronologistics]

He lets Nill move ahead of him, pausing in order to pat down the pockets of his pants. A woman crosses in front of him and he asks if she has a pen he can borrow.

(If Nill is paying attention, she might catch him tipping his head in her direction, followed by an eyebrow-wriggle in the universal sign of, hell fucking yes I'm getting this chick's number.)

The woman -- a fangirl, it appears, who seems to be tittering a little at the thought -- graciously offers him one, and Davesprite jogs to catch up to Nill on the patio.

"Seriously, you'd think someone in this whole compound would be carrying a decent writing utensil around here," he says just as he tosses the pen over the railing, which he casually leans against. In one of his hands, he's toying with a swiped bobby pin.

He gives her a sideways look. "Guess if I'm ever going to get around to drawing more comics, I'm gonna have to come to you."

The bobby pin turns once between his fingers before it disappears between his palms.

[reassures]

She stops at first to see what he's stopped for, but upon realizing it's to talk to a (fairly pretty) girl she leaves him to it. She glances his way once or twice, definitely catches the eye waggle, but otherwise leaves him be. If he manages to get in trouble in the five minutes he's talking to someone, then Nill probably couldn't have stopped that from happening anyway.

She's hanging out at the railing when he finally wanders over again, looking up at the stars. When he comes over she greets him with a tiny smile, and she's not sure why she does, because she doesn't think poorly of him, but the conversation hasn't really been enough to get her mind off the situation with the shackles.

She watches the pen go over the railing, and raises an eyebrow at him, her eyes widening a little when she notices the bobby pin. When had he...? Wow. She's wary but impressed and she's not sure why, and she had smiled before, and. And.

It feels like the world tilts a little. Like things don't slide into place quite right, and Nill stares at him for a second, before she looks back up at the stars.

Stars. Sunglasses. Nill closes her eyes and she sees orange feathers and a dark city, not a single light on, full of the sounds of people celebrating, and it's not a memory, it can't be, but she's not sure what else it is. It doesn't fit right in her head.

Something is slipping.

[anachronologistics]

She has a nice smile, he thinks, although he isn't really able to put a finger on exactly what's nice about it. He doesn't return it, though - mostly because there's already a sea of the Capitol's shitty equivalent to the paparazzi milling around them with who the fuck knows how many cameras, and Davesprite's got a reputation to uphold.

Though...

That she goes from smiling to staring is a little weird. Davesprite's feathers ruffle slightly under her gaze.

"Yeah, I know, feathers are the ish, do you have any idea how often I hear that?" It's totally not a serious question, but it sounds like a better question to ask than, Hey, do you know that right now you look like you're on the brink of shitting yourself after looking at a ghost? He pushes himself off the railing and tilts his head to examine the large padlock on her back. "I would have a carpet of skyward asses if every person who told me that dropped down to kiss the ground I walk on."

[reassures]

Just like that, it's gone.

There's nothing to snap her out of it, nothing to trigger where she loses it. It's there one moment and gone the next, and it leaves Nill feeling like she just lost something that was on the tip of her tongue; but she has no basis for that feeling, no recollection. She can't even recall what it was that she just thought, let alone what might have caused it. Something is missing and it doesn't even feel as though it was important.

Nill frowns, placing a hand against her forehead, and it's only then that she realizes whatever that was must have been noticeable, because Davesprite sounds a little weird, looks a little uncomfortable. Her expression quickly becomes apologetic, though since he's checking out the padlock over her wings, he probably can't see it. She's not sure what he's checking out, but she tries to stay still so he can see it better, writing another note and holding it up over her shoulder for him to see.

I'm sorry. I was suddenly dizzy. Which is true, actually. It had felt a little like vertigo.

It's a little hard to see, with the dress and the way her wings are pressed down, but he can probably catch some of the top part of the three jagged scars that run over part of her back, ridiculously long and thick. It's not the kind of thing people usually survive.

[anachronologistics]

They are the kind of thing that once you do see them, they're pretty fucking hard to miss; at least in how unmistakable they are. He doesn't comment on them, though. There are plenty of people with plenty of cameras, and they're being watched by plenty of brainless morons, so bringing attention to them seems like a bad idea.

They look pretty gnarly, though. If this were a more private place, he'd probably ask if she got mauled by a fucking bear or something.

"Must've been my dazzling magnetism." His voice is flat, almost monotone. "Don't worry, though, I've done enough company trust exercises to know how to catch you if you get wrecked by all these sick vapors and pass out."

He thinks he can pick the lock quickly enough that very few, if anyone, would see it. It wouldn't be a good idea to take the bindings off completely, but at the very least he can loosen them so that they weren't making feathery flatbread sandwiches out of her wings.

"Hold still a sec."

[reassures]

Better than a bear, actually. She used to have pictures of it because it was killing people, but she woke up here without the device that had all her music and pictures on it. She was a little more than heartbroken.

The flat tone is what makes her giggle more than anything, her shoulders shaking with it slightly. Her wings would too, but, you know. Stuck where they are.

Nill isn't altogether sure of just what he wants to do, but she leaves him to it nonetheless. If he actually touches her at all she'll probably tense up, regardless of what he touches, but for the moment at least she'll stay as still as possible.

[anachronologistics]

He doesn't acknowledge her tensing, but he does try to make as quick work of the lock as he possibly can. There's a very short series of clicks and snaps before the lock pops open, and he slips it off.

"Wiggle a bit like you're one of those snakes being charmed out of a basket."

Hopefully, the bindings will loosen a little, then he can slip the lock back on and whoever was responsible for her outfit won't want to eat him alive for fucking with their (really shitty) design.

[reassures]

It's actually more than she was expecting - she feels better almost the second he undoes the lock, less constricted, and Nill inhales deeply, leetoung out a slow and quiet exhale before she flexes her wings a little; nothing too impressive, but so much better than being stuck where they were.

She's quick to write up the next message.

can you show me how to do that later?

[anachronologistics]

It would probably be better if she could flex them all the way - it's hard to imagine that her wings aren't sore - but there are too many people milling around for that to actually be unconspicuous. That said, he's slipping the lock back in place when she writes her note, and so he has to lean a little over her shoulder to see it properly.

"What, the lock?" He snaps the lock closed, and slips around to stand next to her. "Yeah. The trick is learning how to woo it a little. Take it out to dinner and whisper sweet nothings into its ear."

[reassures]

It'd be too big a risk, and even if she had the opportunity, she wouldn't take it. She might if she was the only person involved, but if she got in trouble Davesprite would too, and she did not get anyone else in that kind of trouble. It went against everything she ever tried to do.

She offers him a small, grateful smile.

I don't think I can sweet talk the locks.

[anachronologistics]

Wow, he is an asshole. It had been one thing to make blind jokes at the blind troll with the licking fetish back when the trolls were just a bunch of idiot tools fucking around on the internet. At least she seemed to revel in it like an annoying toy poodle that likes to roll around in a pile of its own shit. This girl isn't anything like that.

He... actually kind of forgot about her being mute for a moment. Don't judge him.

"Fuck... okay, foot in mouth. Forget I said that." He holds the bobby pin out for her to take. "Provided that the next time we talk we won't be dressed up for some faux BDSM fetish party, yeah, I'll show you how to woo the shit out a lock."