[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

GUESS WHO FILTERED THIS INTO THE WRONG INBOX

[reallynow]

Trey doesn't care about your withering looks, Brock. You have breached the friendship shores and Trey is a touchy feely person, just be glad his hands aren't on your face or in your hair.

He can tell that the gossip has sort of run its course at this point, he doesn't have much advice to offer anymore and there's probably not a lot more that Brock is willing to divulge at this point.

"Maybe it just says a lot about how dire your drama is." He points out, not skimping on the dramatic huff when he folds his arms over his chest and sinks back into the couch. "My shit is so handled."

GOOD JOB

[samson]

Friendship with Trey should have come with a contract. No touching his hair unless it's a life-or-death situation. Like if it caught on fire? That would be an acceptable hair-touching situation.

"Yeah, okay," he says with playful sarcasm, picking up another cocktail because they are literally the only ones making use of them. Come on. He downs it quickly and sets the glass back down. "So handled that we're gonna get some fans up here, right."

He's still on that, yes.

[reallynow]

A lot of things with Trey should involve contracts, what with Trey being employed to control Brock's wardrobe. Unfortunately, Trey is used to his free reign over his minions.

"Yes, yes. There will be hoochies for the house party, I promise." He lilts his head to the side to give Brock a flat look. "And when you win an Arena, there'll be a god damn Lady-palooza instead of a crowning. I'll make damn sure of it." There is no ifs, only whens.

[samson]

"I knew there must be a reason they keep you around," Brock says, genially clapping Trey on the shoulder. You know, not because he is good at dressing people up in weird-ass outfits or anything. But because he is good at supplying hoochies.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, though. Never welch on a promise."

[reallynow]

"Here I thought it was because they have low standards and I don't fuck their wives." Trey says that so blandly, eyes straight forward on the wall in front of them as he does before he looks back to Brock.

"You're the one with the big job here. I can goad a bunch of dumb party planners into a strip joint theme easy, you've gotta win and make us all look not shit." He measures a stern look on him as he drains his glass for what is probably the too-manyeth time tonight. "They'll look at you and say wow, District Eight is so adequate and I will probably get a raise." Definitely the too-manyeth.

[samson]

Yeah, that is the point where Brock glances at the remaining cocktails and considers telling Trey he's cut off. He doesn't, though. Because he doesn't hate fun.

"Yeah, adequate. That's what I'm shooting for," he says a little blandly. "I mean, winning wouldn't be so bad. But I dunno. I'd rather just... not give them what they want. You know?"

Wait until he's actually done an Arena, though, and he will have a different opinion entirely. Death changes a person, especially when it happens to them.

Brock stands up and retreats from the common area: maybe he's going to change for the floozies, or maybe he's going to take a piss or something. There has to be some mystery to this relationship, so he doesn't announce it. "So -- see who you can wrangle up while we're stuck in here. Or while I'm stuck in here. Whatever. I'm pretty sure everyone else is takin' a fuckin' nap, anyway."