thecapitol | Slumber Party

Slumber Party

Who| All adult Tributes
What| Slumber party fun times!
Where| The common room
When| during the Chilren's arena
Warnings/Notes| For those who earn tickets, please see this thread to post who they send them too.

The Tributes are told to arrive back at the Tower by 4 o'Clock. Anyone not there by 5 will in fact find themselves nudged home by their friendly, neighborhood peace keepers.

Everyone finds a set of P.J.s on their bed, and although there isn't any particular theme to them, none of them fall under normal, and all lean towards the children's side of things. Footsie P.J's, knee length plaids in bright pink, polyester frilly princess night gowns. And although the night isn't saturated in it, pink and purple are solidly the color code of the night.

Once everyone had been dressed, even if it is by force, they are all hearded down to the common room, which has been decked out. Pillows are everywhere, and large chunks of the floor have been changed into giant beds. The whole room is geared just slightly larger, to give the tributes the subtle but inescapable feeling that they are smaller. Gauzy curtains separate areas of the room by activity, but most furniture has been removed, sans a few scant pieces left for party purposes. Each Tribute is passed over a bag, blues for the boys and pinks for the girls. Within are a selections of goodies-face masques, a small personalized blanket with their face printed on it, and a check list of the activities. For every activity completed you get 5 tickets to send to any kid in the arena, and for completing them all you get a 20 point bonus.

On one huge wall, the Children's arena is broadcast across the whole wall. No matter where you may be in the room, you can see this wall, and the majority of the pillows are gathered around to watch it. An avox near the side of the wall will take any earned tickets and get them to the Tribute of choice in the arena, who will receive it with their next ticketed activity. Directly across from it is a huge table, dripping with every variety of junk food. Pizza's are piled high, and whenever the pile runs low a "delivery" avox will bring more. Chips, soda, cookies, and even more hand made variety of junk food like buckeyes and pigs in a blanket are spread across the table. And there is always an avox near by to "spike" your pop.

Pillow Fight: A padded arena for two is set up, with pillow armor and stuffed weapons.

Make Overs: A small salon is set up, full of ridiculous supplies like wigs, tattoo stencils, and rainbow make up. Nothing is neutral here. There are no stylists however, just lots of their toys for the Tributes to play with.

Fashion Show: After your make over you can walk over to the dressing room, full of things that are all over sized. Shoes, dressed, boas, all made sized up as if the Tributes were children themselves. You must walk the fashion run way to get points.

Video Games: A whole gaming area is set up. However the only game is a fighting game programmed with all the Children Tributes as characters.

Cup Cake Decorating: Just about everything is here to decorate, including decadent things such as live flowers and real gems. Everyone is told they must submit a cupcake for judging, the winner gets 20 extra tickets.

Spin the Bottle: Much like the traditional game, except the bottle is full. Take a swig of whatever is in the bottle before you drink, and it makes you feel much better about having to play spin the bottle after just one shot.

Seven Minutes in Heaven: Two participants are chosen at random throughout the party and hurried into a large closet for 7 minutes "alone," which anyone outside the closet can see on the monitors on the wall behind the closet. Which your character may or may not have seen before being rushed in.

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Molotov ignores the fact that she's obviously not busy. She just glares at him and keeps pointing.

"I said I'm busy, go away."

Brock just keeps standing there. Well, now he folds his arms. But he's still standing there.

He also leans down a little, voice lowering. "Make me."

"Yes. I do," Later on, this would seem like a monumentally stupid decision. Later on, Shepard would look back and groan, at the way she'd brushed off the tactical concerns, the emotional turmoil, the way she'd completely dismissed Joel's plight as beyond help.

Later.

Right now, stupid horny teenage bullshit was the order of the day. That was what had her levering herself awkwardly off the floor, only able to make her feet by bracing one leg against the opposing wall, between Tess' legs. She was drunk, and balance was a little hazy, but at least for right now, Shepard felt as if she knew what she were doing. As if is were true.

"Only one way to do this," Jane looked at Tess out of eyes that glowed, a face like the cracked surface of an active volcano, "You up for it?"

At least Brock's not the only one dressed all stupid. Not that he's going to say anything to that effect. At least he pushes the hood down, though, quirking an eyebrow at Milla's comment.

"There's always tomorrow," he says, because while being in close quarters with her isn't exactly disagreeable, he is pretty damn sure he saw some cameras on the way in here. Not cool. Then again, he's also running under the assumption that there are cameras... everywhere... so, shifts his gaze to the side and adds, "Theoretically."

Tess only wants out of this stupid narrow closet so she can grab another drink and because being in here with Shepard is the last place she needs to be. She'd rather be devising a plan to somehow get that grouchy asshole of a partner out - stupid, reckless and last minute but -

"H-hey -" she sucked in on a breath at the light pressure between her legs, Shepard's leg pressing up against the low crotch of her onesie and grazing the inside of her thigh. Close to where it shouldn't.

Automatically Tess' hands went down to brace against Shepard's waist, leaning back into the wall at her back. It was as if to keep her from getting too close, which was silly with how small the closet is. She looked at those glowing eyes and the glowing cracks.

"And if we...don't? What then?"

Would the closet be unlocked and let them out? Or would they be trapped in here until the deed was done?

"Best case scenario? Seven minutes, they let us out. But it's way more likely that they just leave us in here until we do what they want-- at least until the end of the party," Leaning in felt comfortable, and a little intimidating, but that was comfortable too. Shepard liked to intimidate, it made her feel powerful, something that was otherwise lacking in this particular situation, "Worst case? They've got a friend of ours behind bars. Even if we really want to kick up a fuss, now might not be the best time."

They'd do whatever they wanted to Joel, regardless, but it was better not to give them a reason to do more than they otherwise might.

"Or hell, maybe I'm just that ugly. We're not exactly friends, Tess, but it's just a kiss. It doesn't have to mean anything, unless you want it to."

Edited 2014-11-11 06:28 (UTC)

Why was she leaning in? Did she really just have to go and do that? This only made Tess feel uncomfortable and intimidated because it's been a while since she was last in this sort of position; wtih another woman? Never...really. And - Tess rarely got intimidated unless it involved Infected.

It's just a kiss. It doesn't have to mean anything, unless you want it to.

Because that's exactly what she needs to hear right now.

"And you think being in here makes it any better?" Tess' fingers curl over the curves of Shepard's waist, nudging. "Knock it off, you're not ugly."

"I look I got in a fight with a lawn mower and a branding iron, and lost to both," Shepard's in good humor about it, and takes the tacit permission in Tess' fingertips for a signal, "Of course some women like scars, or so I'm told."

Granted, most of them are Krogan. Thanks, Garrus.

"Better?" That's a laugh. Her own hands come up, easy to track in the close quarters, and settle on the wood paneling to either side of Tess' face, "Nothing about this is what I'd call ideal. But, this part isn't so bad; what'll it be? You can say no."

It might not matter much, in the grand scheme of things, but even Commander Shepard could still take 'no' gracefully, when she wanted to.

Edited 2014-11-11 06:49 (UTC)

"Tomorrow is good." She agrees with a chuckle, mirth making her lips crinkle upwards into a smile. He looks much better without the hood. Even with what little light they have in the closet, Milla would much rather see his face.

"If we manage to survive the night without a hangover." She adds helpfully after a brief pause of her own, "The drinks here seem particularly potent."

Shepard, now isn't the time to joke around about looks. Tess has already told her twice that she's fine and not ugly. So she might be a woman who doesn't mind scarring, Shepard doesn't need to know that.

"I was referring to Joel being stuck in jail while we're in here playing a goddamn kissing game," she speaks low between them.

Tess doesn't see the arms coming up, she only senses the movement of the hands on either side of her head. She feels caged in with this other woman, why isn't she saying no? Why is she wetting her lips instead? Anticipating something.

She lifts a hand to touch her fingers the corner of her own lips. Fine. They'll do this game. It can't be so bad... "Right here," she instructs and hopes that Shepard can see.

Well, maybe she can, but right now the distinction between that particular spot and the rest of her lips is a bit hazy. She might as well have said right on the mouth, because that was the easiest interpretation. And, also it was what Shepard wanted to see.

With permission thus duly acquired, Shepard shifts forward further still, crowding Tess between the wall and herself. It's annoyingly cramped, there's not enough elbow room, not enough of anything really, but the press of warm flannel up against her belly is its own odd pleasure. Jane would have bet that before she came to Panem, Tess' hair didn't see a wash more than once a month, if then, but the stylists will have their way, and it's like silk under her fingers. She doesn't wait to be told twice.

Actually, it's pretty gentle, all told, practically sweet, if you're the kind of romantic who's fond of closedmouthed kisses in the dark.

There's a lot about Tess that's changed in the past month or so since she arrived from her twenty years of surviving on very little to no skin and hair care to getting pampered here by her stylists, make up, clean clothes, proper nutrition, nails properly trimmed and her cuticles kept in shape, skin and hair softer than she's ever had it in decades.

She doesn't feel the fingers brushing her hair. All she feels is the alcohol buzzing lightly in her system and the lips pressing warm and surprisingly soft against her own.

Tess is pressed tense between the wall and Shepard, pulse pounding in her ears, feeling hot in the flannel onesie. She lets the kiss linger for another second or two and tilts her chin away, breath soft against the mouth hovering closely. So maybe that hadn't been so bad after all, nothing serious.

The door doesn't click, it hasn't unlocked.

That can't be good.

Well that's as clear a breath of air as any. It takes a minute to register the silence, and then Shepard realizes.

"Oh come on, Really?" Shepard murmurs, letting her head drop back as if to address the ceiling, "That's real mature. Looks like that wasn't good enough."

Which is just the worst possible thing to say, really.

"One more try?"

"You have got to be fucking kidding," she adds to Shepard's murmur with a muttering of her own. Heels of her palms press flat against Shepard's belly, fingers digging in briefly and then her hands drop to her sides.

Tess lets herself sag back into the wall and then suddenly - if that's what they want, fine - it sets in that this has to be done to get out and so she reaches up for those glowing cheeks, taking Shepard's face between her fingers. She pulls her to her without saying another word, capturing her mouth in a hard, open-mouth kiss.

But it's dark, it's hard to see, they might have bumped noses.

Oh. Oh shit.

Shepard had been trying to be nice, but Tess-- well, Tess was not a nice person. No, indeed. There were teeth in this, it was messy and wet; the sound Shepard made in her surprise was pretty undignified. Never the sort to let hands go idle, Jane's work fell to a rough slide, neck and shoulders, breasts and hips, hiking her up against a supporting knee that was a little more than supporting.

Alright, so she was grabbing a healthy double-handful of ass to go with it, and so what? It felt good to let go, to forget the cameras, just for a minute. It felt damn good to press a willing woman up against the wall and see how long they could both go without breathing. Damn, Tess, and the pajamas did nothing but tease-- thin enough to map every inch of soft pleasure, but too thick for what Jane really wanted, which was to spread her open and-- oops. Looks like the stupid closet was too narrow for that anyways.

Shepard broke off, wild-eyed and panting, at the reminder. Damn.

"Damn."

For just a moment everything was forgotten in the bruising embrace, teeth on Shepard's lip. Her arguments with Joel and whatever feelings were involved - hah, feelings - dying, her being possibly infected still, the arenas, Ellie and the reaping, that asshole getting himself dragged off. And as she felt herself hiked up until it felt like the tips of her toes barely touched the ground, the pressure hard between her thighs, this time it was Tess who made an undignified sound, a loud, surprised moan that was muffled between them.

The hands gripping her ass hard and groping her through the flannel, Tess began pushing her fingers through Jane's hair to pull her closer. It felt like there were no cameras, no microphones, no audience just outside the closet doors. Just them. Not even friends. Stuck in a closet. Playing a stupid game.

And then it was over, the need to breathe too great.

Still - no unlocking sound.

"Jesus -" she was panting back, feeling like everything was too hot, on fire, like an itch that needed to be scratched.

"I don't think so." Watching them flounder is probably funnier than just telling them what they're expected to be doing, he thinks bitterly. "I can't imagine what we're even meant to do, it isn't as though there's much of anything to do in here."

It's a closet. A small, dark closet, with no clear indication that anything in it is something they should be noticing or making use of. This is the strangest human custom he's ever been a part of, and after being in Panem for so long that's saying something.

She glares at him, fingers flexing dangerously even though her arms are still locked around her biggest pillow.

"You looking for a broken nose, Samson?"

[Bilbo catches Frodo in his stumbling, his hands holding his nephew's arm as he looks from him to Nick, concern mixed with curiosity on his face. The man's pajamas earn him a very strange look from someone who's wearing food on his clothes.]

Is... Are you supposed to look like a dragon? I can't even imagine what sort of creature that is.

[Being grabbed and thrown unceremoniously into a dark closet without warning did little good for his already hammering heart and jumped up nerves. Bilbo reacts as well as anyone does when the closet door closes shut and nearly yelps in surprise when his frantic movement hits a wall.

A very warm and living wall - Bilbo scurries backwards into some shoe boxes on impulse when he realizes he's not alone in this closet.] I- I'm so sorry! Please excuse me I didn't know- I wasn't aware I-

"Then we'd better figure it out." For your love's sake, he doesn't say. He turns to look around, still holding himself stiffly, but stops when his shoulder bumps into Signless. He turns quickly to draw the offending bodypart back, muttering a brief, "Pardon," that involves no eye contact at all. Too busy looking around for that, of course, and more carefully this time.

Whoever designs these places is very good at what they do, a playwright setting props on the largest theater in the land, but props are all they are. "I may not know what they're mimicking here, but it's clear none of this is intended to be used. Do you recall the name of this game? Perhaps that'll give us a clue."

Edited (you don't want a reply that's entirely in italics) 2014-11-12 14:03 (UTC)

It had made Thor feel powerfully guilty to have missed Elsa all throughout the Arena. He hadn't crossed paths with a good number of people, but he still feels indebted to her for her assistance and kindness in the first Arena. He won't ever forget what she did with her powers, he can only hope she hasn't forgotten him for how long it has been.

He almost doesn't recognise her for the haircut, though he'd not been looking for her here. It's the snort that draws his attention to her and he glances upward in an almost bewildered manner, like the dog with his snout in the cat's food bowl. He straightens up, clearing his throat in a manner that could almost be considered sheepish before he returns the smile.

"It pleases me to embarrass myself on my own terms." He assures, moving his fingers to give the clip a little push to adjust it. "I'm glad you think so, at the very least." He admits with a laugh, moving to sit in the nearby chair.

Thor ought to know better, he ought to have acted better to. He's never been faced with a situation quite like this one, he's not sure what the right way to act is anymore. Perhaps it's the fact that he tries so hard to be right that he ends up shooting himself in the foot, but he can recognise that he's the one who has acted foolishly here. For the most part, at least.

He continues to watch in silence as she takes her time, half wondering if she intends to ignore him despite having asked him to bring her decorations forward.

"It is beautiful." He says simply, he isn't saying it to flatter her, he's just observing. However, her own observation has his brows furrowing in annoyance. "No. It is decorated." He points out, just a little defensively.

"Thank you," she says, first to him, then to the Avox. She knows that technically, the slaves don't need thanking, but it's still weird to just treat them as if they're vending machines or robots. She learned to hone her natural sweet demeanor into graciousness in Hollywood, of all places; she knows well the value of making the unseen, unsung workers behind the scenes of a production feel appreciated.

"Nah, I got dumped months ago," although the tone of her voice implies that she still isn't okay with it. It was her first heartbreak, and there's something pained about her expression that goes beyond just her headache and roiling stomach. Still, it's nothing on what she says next, as she tries to drink her soda without spilling it on her cat outfit.

"Those are my kids in there. Not like I'm their mom, but- I was supposed to protect them."

The Capitol stoops lower than even Loki, Thor has found. Loki could be endlessly cruel with his actions and words, but the Capitol had proven themselves to be needlessly antagonistic at the best of times. He certainly hoped they didn't think he'd be doing this with his brother of all people, but here they are.

"So it seems." He says in a tone that is resigned to this kind of tomfoolery. He's mad, his temper is rising every second when he thinks of how infuriating this is, but another glance toward Loki brings about conflicting emotions. He's mad, yes, but that outfit is a level of ridiculous that makes even Thor want to laugh at a time like this. He stifles it for the most part, giving Loki a bland look.

"I'm as comely as any maiden you've courted, I'm sure." He jibes, raising a brow.

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Slumber Party

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seven minutes in heaven

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