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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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?"

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

Edited 2014-10-22 04:47 (UTC)

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.

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.

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?

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."

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.

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."

The thing about having an issue like this is that people always take it a lot more seriously than she does. Which isn't to say that she's not a little sensitive about it. She loves being around talkative people, even if she is a little jealous of them.

I was joking.
thank you.

If she couldn't make a joke about it every so often then she would probably have lost her shit a long time ago.

... of course she was joking.

He raises an eyebrow, "More like praying upon a strapping, impressionable young man like the worlds unlikeliest black widow with angel wings."

But, he ain't mad. Can't be. It's kind of nice to see she has a sense of humor. God knows that if someone had decided to rip out his vocal cords or something, he'd probably have put his sword between his eyes.

It doesn't look like she's going to take the offered bobby pin, though, so he rests it on the railing in front of her.

"Look, this was fun and all, but that crowd," he gestures back into the main building at the crowd of party-goers with his head, "ain't gonna butter itself up."

It occurs to him that he hasn't asked her name -- never bothered to look at the hologram representation of her headshot -- but he isn't sure he wants to ask.

Even for an ex-Time player, asking the name of someone you'll be expected to compete against in a murderfest seems just kind of weirdly morbid.

People make that mistake about her constantly, and it's a testament to her ability to adapt to most situations. Above and beyond all else, Nill dearly loves people. Has from the moment she could be around them, would always love them. But if she said she still trusted people it would be a flat out lie. If she seems like an angel it's either because she genuinely likes those people, or because she wants them to think that of her.

And hey, she's got her own, remember? But it seems like he doesn't want it, or maybe that would be hard to explain, so when he sets it down she picks it up, sliding it effortlessly into her hair, where it looks like it's been all night after that.

It seems like he's going to go rejoin the rest of the crowd, and truth be told, Nill would much rather stay out here. She nods, and her smile is understanding, quiet and gentle. She hasn't really decided if she's going to compete. It'll depend, really - will it be easier if she tries to get by, or if she steps out early? ...she'd have to see.

it was nice spending time with you. thank you again.

To say he is going to rejoin the rest of the crowd isn't quite right; it's more like he's going to follow its tide. Besides, if someone hasn't grown suspicious of how much time the two of them have been hanging out on the patio together, it would probably happen soon. Best to not push their luck.

"Yeah," you're welcome isn't really in his vocabulary, "cool."

There's a beat before he breaks off and disappears into the crowd.

It doesn't occur to him that, like a dumbass, he forgot to at least tell her what district he's in.

It's not really in Nill's nature to push these things, and it seems like he's gotten a lot more quiet since he helped with her wings. Maybe the joke about her voice had been too much. He doesn't offer any information, and getting the wrong impression from it, Nill doesn't ask.

She waves slightly as he goes, before going back to looking at the stars.

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The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

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