[OPEN] Curfew Mingling Log

[etcircenses]

Who| All residents of the Tribute Center
What| The curfew is now in effect.
Where| Each floor of the Tribute Center.
When| 11pm-7am
Warnings/Notes| Each floor will get a log to mingle. Locate yours below and have at it!

Over the past couple of days, tributes may have noticed increased activity and discussion between Peacekeepers and that Escorts may have appeared to be on edge. Any attempts by tributes to discover what is happening are quickly shut down, but in the end they don't have long to wait for an answer.

As of today, Tributes will be told via Peacekeeper, Escort, or one of the notices now hung up around the Tribute Centre, the following order:

Mandatory Tribute Curfew

11pm - 7am

For the safety of citizens and Tributes a curfew is now in effect for all tributes. Between the hours listed above, all Tributes must report to and remain within their designated district suites. Any Tributes who fail to return to or are discovered outside their assigned floor between these hours will face disciplinary action.


You didn't think it had escaped the Capitol's notice how many of your little acts of rebellion occurred after dark, did you?

The time is now 11pm.  Do you know where your District mates are?  Time to check in and mingle with the people you live with.  Have fun, everyone!

Comments

District 1

[etcircenses]

Zuko | OTA

[failbender]

Zuko had commandeered the magic storybox. There were very few things he liked about this world, what with the evil government and idiotic people that were being lied to and the stupid clothes and the woefully bland food.

But he liked this "tee vee" thing. A lot. They were plays! All kinds of plays that you could find by pushing the one button to make the tee vee turn on and other buttons to find different ones. They even came on the same time each day or each week. As a member of the royal family, Zuko had grown up seeing all kinds of entertainment and experienced all kinds of culture. Most of it wasn't really his cup of tea. Like ugh, dance. When he'd been a boy he'd wondered why they weren't all just fighting.

He'd liked anything with a good story, though, like books. Reading had always been an engrossing past-time, especially after his mother had disappeared and he'd spent his days trying to avoid being tormented by his sister. He hadn't like the books and scrolls about military tactics or Fire Nation history, but he'd loved the fictional tales of adventures and spirits and dragons he'd been able to get from the palace's massive library. All of them were, naturally, written in such a way to highlight the Fire Nations's glory, but they hadn't had all the fun, dangerous parts sanitized.

Though, in retrospect, it was discomfiting to remember how many were about brave Firebenders soldiering out in the world to fight evil, ruthless Earth Kingdom rebels standing in the way of human progress or dangerous Airbenders and their cruel army. So, uh, that wasn't so good.

But he'd also liked the theater, which was one of the few bastions of culture that had somehow remained largely untainted by one hundred years of war. Plays from other nations had been abandoned but most Fire Nation play were about good people or spirits fighting evil people pr evil spirits and star-crossed lovers trying to find ways to be together. His mother had always loved taking them to see Love Amongst the Dragons on Ember island every summer. Even though they butchered it every year. Afterward, he and Azula had always played out the conflict in the play, back when they still played, though he'd hated always having to play the evil characters.

Watching the plays on the teevee was, in a way, a connection to home. To the mother he'd lost, and to the more innocent times before hurt and anger had taken over his life. He needed that connection because almost everything else about this world was painfully unfamiliar and alien.

Other than the evil government. Of course that was one of the only things that was like home - the worst part of it.

That was why he'd commandeered the remote for the night and people would have to fight him to get to back.

Aside from the 24-hour Arena channel (which was horrible) there were lots of other Capitol shows, some ridiculous, some mildly less so. Right now he was watching a late-night soap-type show. A ridiculously melodramatic one at that. Usually he went to bed fairly early, what with being used to sleeping when it got dark and waking at dawn. That was a thing you did when living on the run in a world without electric lights.

But "Silent Abyss of Passion," the story of a plucky party planner who was unlucky in love, occasionally had him staying up late the one day a week it aired. Forgetting that everyone else was stuck in with him for the night, he sat there, leaning forward, totally captivated.

As he watched, his eyes widened and he gasped.

"No! How can you not tell that's his evil twin? He has a different mustache!" he shouted at the tee vee. "He's only pretending to be his brother because he's trying to steal her uncle's inheritance!"

Megan Gwynn | OTA

[soultospare]

She'd been there not an hour before finding herself hustled into the District 1 suite, and as of yet, she hadn't received a sufficient explanation for what the hell was happening to her. She'd been to her share of alternate dimensions and hell realities before, but this place was new, bizarre, and totally beyond her reckoning.

Megan felt so small. She felt so insignificant and afraid. And no matter how she tried, her teleportation spell didn't seem to work. But perhaps more frightening than that, her wings didn't seem to work either. What good was a magic wielding fairy if she had no magic and her wings were clipped? She couldn't even call upon the other X-Men to help her or come after her. As far as she could tell, she was all alone in a suite full of total strangers.

Nervously, she tried to make herself at home and made her way to the kitchen area to at least get a feel for the suite itself. With guards watching the door, it seemed next to impossible for her to sneak away undetected, but she was undeterred. She was Welsh, dammit. She could come up with a way out of this mess.

Bucky | OTA for action or communicator

[tookthewheel]

D1'ers might be forgiven for not actually having realised this man was actually in the district to begin with, Bucky's spent so little time here whenever he's in the Capitol. Unfortunately now, between the hours of 11pm and 7am, he's compelled to come to the district whether he likes it or not.

He does not. He'll slip in just before 11 and usually vanish out not long after 7 every day.

Bucky's room

He'll probably spend most of the time hiding out in here and perhaps if you knock he might answer. It's not hard to guess that he probably doesn't actually spend much time sleeping, given the pacing feet or the quiet murmur of his voice as he speaks to someone through his communicator.

On the rare occasion Bucky does fall asleep here his district mates might be able to hear muted sounds of distress. Nightmares are not uncommon with this one.

Common Area

During the early hours of morning, or when hunger strikes, is when Bucky is mostly likely to be caught outside his room. He might be pacing round like a restless, trapped cat, or preparing a simple meal.

Sometimes he watches television or reads some book he's found. Other times he'll be sat on the couch or more likely huddled in a corner, possibly petting a small purring ball of fluff. The tribble comes to D1 with him every single night.

District 2

[etcircenses]

Jet Link | Open

[metalicarus]

This was beyond frustrating. He'd moved out of the District 2 suites for a reason. As it was, all he'd brought with him was essentially an overnight bag and some spare clothes that weren't the atrocious bird-themed outfits he'd left in the closet initially.

His home was with Albert one floor up, this was just a too empty and too quiet room that he couldn't sleep in. He tossed and turned and tossed some more and ultimately decided there'd be no sleeping in a room that lacked the gentle snoring his partner made.

A) He set up a spot in a blanket cocoon on the couch with a small pile of books. He could be found there sitting and reading and would glance up any time anyone came into the common area as well. If they sat nearby, he'd lower the book and give them a sympathetic smile. "Couldn't sleep either?"

B) Eventually, he'd get tired of reading and turned to another distraction: the video game systems set up on the large T.V. With no arena going on, there was hardly any reason to have it on most of the time, but Jet put it to use now. There wasn't a wide selection of games, but Jet played them all for as long as he had the attention and, luckily, most of them were at least two-player and the other controller was hooked up...just in case. He certainly didn't mind some company.

C) Endeavoring to stay up all night is bound to make a guy hungry and while he knew he could probably call an avox to bring him something, he'd known too many of his fellow tributes who'd been turned into avoxes to be comfortable calling on them to do anything, much less bring him food at 4 in the morning. So with mild trepidation, he ventured into the kitchen to see what he could find.

The most promising thing he found was what looked like it could be ground meat of some kind...he'd prefer hot dogs, but he'd make do. No, in fact, he could do this, he had to have improved from his younger kitchen-disaster days! He set to work rolling the meat into hot dog looking shapes and put the pan he found onto the stove to heat up. Good start, right?

Five minutes later, anyone who walked in would see smoke trailing out of the kitchen. If they dared to venture in, they'd see dishes that seemingly never needed to have been used dirty and piled in the sink and a pan filled with chunks of what might have once been meat but now lay either half-dry or charred and stuck to the bottom of the pan as Jet viciously tried to scrape them off, brimming with frustration.

"Goddamn junk! Why is this cooking crap so hard? Chang always made it look so goddamn easy!"

Nailed it.

District 3

[etcircenses]

[pythianjudgment]

-- A -- (Closed to Albert)

Terezi didn't have any intention of coming back to her room so soon. She was more than happy to be rooming up in D5 with Fraysong. It meant that she didn't have to spend the night alone... and she didn't have to worry that they might drag him away and avox him again.

Their parting just before curfew is a long one, and just barely makes the cut off before eleven pm. Still, it feels painfully short, and there's a nervousness in Terezi's gut as soon as the elevator doors shut. She wants to jab the up button to bring the elevator back, but she doesn't dare. She doesn't want to get either of them into trouble again.

So she goes to the only person she can think of going: Albert.

-- B: Sometime after midnight -- (Everyone in D3)

There's only so far that you can wander without leaving the floor. Terezi has traced a path from her room, through the kitchen, through the commons, back to the hallway, and back her her room. It's surprising that the carpet hasn't worn down from her circuit.

She's restless and she knows it. She wants to be anywhere but here, whether that's outside the tower or just curled up in Fraysong's room. Not knowing what is going on out in the rest of the world outside this one floor is slowly eating away at her thoughts. She needs a distraction, and fast.

It starts with just pulling the covers off of her bed and dragging them out into the common room. A little TV might help her sleep, if she can find something that's not death arena footage. But then she finds a better use for those sheets.

It's just a small fort at first. Just a sheet thrown over two adjoining couches and a chair, but it's something to do. The smaller space under the blanket feels a little safer, a little less vulnerable. But she's still alone, and that's not very comforting. It's probably not comforting for anyone else, either.

After some careful consideration, Terezi heads around the floor, knocking on everyone's door--regardless of wakefulness or apparent mood. They all get the same greeting:

"Come build a blanket fort with me."

-- C: Anytime between midnight and 7am -- (Everyone not in D3)

At some point during the night, Terezi curls up under her blanket fort and cradles her communicator in her lap. There's another blanket thrown over her shoulders and the eerie light from the comm casts a glow onto her face. If there's anyone who might want to check up on her, she's awake and attentive...

OTA

[honeyibrokeharlem]

11:00

Bruce is easily one of the more reclusive members of the district--he would often cook for himself in the kitchen, but would otherwise stay in his own room whenever he is in there. Tonight is different. He's penned in, even more than this place usually does, and that puts such incredible anxiety in a man that had been running and wandering for ten years that he can't sit still.

So he's cooking. Half the kitchen is claimed. Food from over a dozen countries, sizzling oil and bowls full of dough to be baked and spices all lining the counter. One person can't eat all this. He doesn't really know what he'll do with all the food. Probably push it at the nearest passer by, or maybe put it in the fridge as leftovers. All he knows is that this is one of the only ways he can think of to relieve his anxiety even a little bit.

Past Midnight

He can't sleep. He is pacing. He is meditating on the couch. He is pacing again. He's pulling out sheets of paper and working on endlessly complex physics theorems. Usually, his go-to project to work on is figuring out the super soldier serum and trying to find a cure for the Hulk (there probably isn't one), but he doesn't dare write any of that down anywhere the Capitol can see, so instead, he just works on other projects, on physics and re-inventions and drawing a star map from memory and inventing chemicals that can't exist outside of theory... sheets and sheets of paper pile up. All of them are due to be destroyed in the morning.

6:00

One more hour. Is it weird that he'll only be able to sleep properly when he is allowed to leave the floor?

He sits on the district couch, his eyes closed, his breathing even. Meditating. Trying to slow down his mind, loosen the knot of anxiety in his chest.

At least he's quiet.

Open

[silberfuchs]

Between 11 and 12

After a heart-to-pump biscuit talk with Terezi, Albert had attempted to retire to bed in order to pass the time. Unfortunately, without his fiance's back to bury his face against, that just wasn't happening. Instead, he can be found in the common area with his eyes glued to his device, waiting for responses from said fiance.

It's going to be a long night.


1 AM

One in the morning and somehow Albert ended up an architect.

It was Terezi's idea to build the fort and initially he'd recused himself from the whole thing, preferring to restlessly check his phone every other minute and drift from the kitchen to his room back to the common area without any real destination. But after he'd lost count of the number of times he'd circumnavigated the suites, he relents and offers a bit of advice in the form of a standing lamp support beam. One thing lead to another and suddenly he's setting up an elaborate pully system of bedsheets to keep the fort structurally sound.

What is his life?


4:30 AM

Finally Albert's fallen into a fitful doze, face down on the floor of the blanket fort with his nose buried in the crease between two cushions taken from the couch and used as the fort's floor. His phone lies next to him, half under his hand, and if it beeps or vibrates, it will be enough to rouse him for an answer.

Does anyone call?

District 4

[etcircenses]

OPEN

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland knows why he can't sleep. He knows that, in the distant way he understands most humor, that it's a little funny that he'd just be asleep now anyway, normally. Funny that there's few rooms he'd want to go to during the night, anyway.

He paces between the plush, expensive couches. In front of the sleek, expensive TV, and looks toward the doors of his districtmates' rooms more times than he quite wants to admit to himself. Catch him then or as he finally turns on the TV, completely for the voices, and heads into the kitchen to set some meat to sizzling on a pan over the stove. He's counting on the smell to attract at least one person; cooking only for himself is more difficult than it probably should be, and he's pretty well lost his taste for it.

OPEN

[actually112]

11:00

Aang's bedtime is long before now, so at the moment, he's sleeping all curled up in a blanket burrito. He snores. Loudly.

Who would want to disturb this angel's sleep?

Late at night

Nightmares, that's who.

Aang has a lot of things to have nightmares about. Among those things are death, death, and more death. Also fire. And angry ocean spirits. And giant centipede spirits that steal faces. His nightmares have diversity.

He walks out into the suite, rubbing his eyes, intending to find a comfortable place to meditate.

5:00

Early to bed, early to rise!

He spends an hour sitting on the common room table, back completely straight, eyes closed, hands on his knees. Meditating, reflecting on himself and the universe, checking all his chakras.

Then he abruptly jumps to the floor and starts to stretch. He has to move a lot of furniture out of the way, but at least he makes the effort to be quiet.

Then he starts doing his morning katas--katas relating to airbending, waterbending, earthbending, and firebending in that order, gradually getting more and more intense and complex while he doesn't even break a sweat. It would be nice if he had some weight equipment, but in the meantime, he will just punch and dodge the air and try not to go stir-crazy.

District 5

[etcircenses]

Sam Wilson; OPEN

[sizeofyourbaggage]

It seems strange after everything else, but this curfew thing is throwing Sam through a loop. On the best of days, he's up well before dawn to go running, on the worst - well, being stuck in the suite until seven is a serious crimp in his lifestyle.

He does push ups in his room that night when he wakes up after only a few hours of sleep, considers trying to do a more thorough workout, but he's feeling way too cooped up in there. It's barely past three am, but he leaves his room anyway, hoping the larger area of the common space won't make him feel quite as much like he's trapped. At least out there, he can put his focus into cooking breakfast, even if it is way too early for it.

He'll just. Make a lot of it. Someone'll probably eat it.

When it starts getting closer to five or six, something almost like a reasonable waking hour, or if more people are out of their rooms, he'll turn some music on, to have a backdrop for those of them who can't just sleep through the curfew.

Kousuke Nitou; OPEN

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou has taken up residence in the kitchen, where he's sitting with his feet propped up on the table. He's got an open package of cookies and a squeeze bottle of mayonnaise next to him. "Man," he complains, not really caring who's in there to hear him whine, "this curfew thing is ridiculous!" And he takes one of those cookies, squeezes on a generous helping of mayonnaise, and stuffs it into his mouth. He does not bother to chew before continuing to complain. "I wanted to sleep in my tent! Outside! Man, they're worse than my grandma!" And he takes another cookie and squirts more mayonnaise onto it and stuffs it into his mouth, too. "I snuck out on Grandma all the time, and I bet I could do it here, too!"

He's basically going to be stuffing his face with mayo cookies and complaining all night until he passes out on the kitchen table if no one stops him.

District 6

[etcircenses]

Darcy Lewis; OPEN

[tasermaiden]

Darcy's great at a lot of things. Going to bed at a decent hour isn't one of them. While she doesn't go out for crazy parties or to go clubbing that often, she does like slipping out to go wandering.

And this bullshit curfew? Is putting a serious damper on her meandering.

So instead of going out to wander around the city (or hell, she'd even take the building), Darcy sets up camp in the living room with a massive bowl of fancy popcorn, a mug of fancy hot chocolate, and what appears to be Panem's version of Lifetime original movies. While the TV isn't too loud, her laughter at some of the ridiculous things in these movies gets up there.

Which is why whenever someone walks in, she can't help but shoot an apologetic look at them. "Sorry, my bad."

Clementine | OTA, action or communicator

[smarterthanthem]

If there's one person who doesn't find the curfew all that distressing it's Clementine.

Being twelve, though physically eleven, those eight hours are sleeping hours through and through for her. The ability to sleep in safety and in a warm comfortable bed has yet to get old. Sometimes she falls asleep on one of the couches instead, still fully-dressed or in her PJ's with the television playing cartoons.

She doesn't always sleep right through the night of course, she has bad dreams the same as any tribute or she might wake up because of thirst or hunger, drifting dreamily towards the kitchen.

Some mornings Clem will wake up earlier than 7 and can be found eating cereal and watching tv, or playing video games on one of the various consoles hooked up to it.

District 7

[etcircenses]

Re: District 7

[dingadong]

Ringabel sits on a couch in the common room, periodically glancing up at the moving pictures--he's found a way to change them from the usual bloodsports to beautiful young ladies of all varieties competing to become models--while he works on his new book. Like D's Journal, it was black leather bound, though it was missing the eponymous letter and unfortunately had no tales of the future either. However, it does contain a multitude of blank and formerly blank pages and that in itself is useful for Ringabel's purposes.

Thorongil, he writes and then underlines the name. He leaves space to the side to later capture the man's likeness. A scruffy but kindly gentlemen I met in the park, where he was listening to the ground. Further conversation found him to be a man of great courtesy.

Likes:

Ringabel hesitates and skips down to the next line. Dislikes: Sewers

District 8

[etcircenses]

open!

[reallynow]

By this point, Trey had been expecting some sort of backlash from all the fuckery over the past weeks. It seems like it had been put off until after crowning for intentional reasons, but at this rate the assholes should think themselves lucky that it wasn't something more aggressive. Well. He thought that at first. Then he remembered all of his favourite hook-ups just happen to be tributes right now.

Fuck. That. Noise. He needs a drink or seven to deal with this shit, and even though he really isn't obligated to hang around and babysit for the escorts he decides he might as well hang around and make sure nobody does something stupid. Of course, the best way to do that is to stock up on fruity, ridiculous coloured booze and make margaritas. Right? Right. That's coping. By the time 11 hits, there's plenty of boozy drinks to go around (and virgin ones for the good kids.

Trey sits on the couch of the commons with a drink in his hand, raising a brow at everyone who happens to wander past or wander in to be locked in for the night. He looks like he has every intention of drinking all of this pink crap if nobody else does.

District 9

[etcircenses]

Sollux Captor; OPEN

[onthelii2p]

Fuck this whole thing. Curfews are stupid. The Capitol is stupid. And being stuck here while his girlfriend is also stuck in her own district is like, double stupid. (He can't even be proud of the pun right now, he's too mad.)

It's not a loud anger, the kind that fumes and crackles and lets everyone know, but the quiet, brooding kind that simmers impotent under the surface. He could talk to Feferi over the network, sure, but it wouldn't be the same as being in the same space. They don't even do anything untoward, but shared physical presence is nice and a comfort in a place as uncomfortable as this.

He doesn't want to be in his room right now, but he doesn't want to sit in the common area, either. He'd wander, but wander where? Their section of the tower isn't that big, and there's only so many times you can pace before someone is bound to snap at him to stop. So he doesn't try.

Instead, he's plopped his scrawny ass down in the hallway. He's at least had the courtesy to sit himself by the wall instead of smack dab in the middle, but he shows no sign of budging. If the Capitol is going to make him stare in his district, then he'll pick what part he stays at.

It's probably not the first time districtmates would have seen him around, what with his standout horns and skin, but those who know him better might notice the new piercings - a pair of plain metal rings in his right eyebrow, one in his lower lip, and a couple metal studs plus a set of black and white mismatched plugs in his ears. They were put on him for Crowning, and while he's still not happy about them, they aren't on his mind at the moment.

District 10

[etcircenses]

District 11

[etcircenses]

Courfeyrac ; OPEN

[libertin]

The D11 suites were still under construction, thanks to Mariko's little show during the blackout. That made for a rather unpleasant and uncomfortable living situation. At least, that's how Courfeyrac felt about it. He wouldn't have minded all that much if Cindy and Max were still around to entertain him, and he did enjoy Combeferre's company, but he still felt restless and lonely.

Courfeyrac was a social creature, and one of many dubious habits, one of which was smoking hand rolled cigarettes. Now with the curfew in place, he'd taken to doing so in the common area of the suite. He looked, more or less, like a hipster, what with his scruffy half-beard and his tobacco products, reading one of the very few philosophy books Enjolras hadn't bothered to destroy over the summer. He was restless in the suites, despite his attempts at looking serious, and every so often he'd let out an impatient sigh as he turned the pages of the book he'd already read several times.

Life was hard, okay? Especially now that there were essentially no women in District 11.

District 12

[etcircenses]

Joly: Open

[medecin]

Joly's had worse things to deal with than a curfew, after all, and it is one of the milder inconveniences that's befallen him as a tribute, but it still annoys him all the same, the fact that they're being herded around as if they are children at some sort of horrible school, the sort he'd only lasted at for a month, actually. Not that there is very much that he can do about it, unless he wants to get caught. Since that is not on Joly's agenda, thanks very much, on the first night of the curfew, he's sitting in the common area, dressed in a pair of silk pajamas and matching slippers, sulking a little as he surveys the room at large.

"Do you suppose they mean to put us to bed as well? Because if they are meant to tuck us in, I hope we'll get a story and a glass of water anyway."