It's all it will take, we'll go down in history

[milieus]

Who| Everyone in the Tribute Center (plus various Capitol citizens are in attendance)
What| A Saturnalia inspired extravaganza!
Where| A large, festive ballroom
When| Tonight!
Warnings/Notes| N/A? Let me know if this needs a warning!

Jennifer had spent weeks on the preparations for this glorious night, arranging for the food and gifts and music and dancing. Everything would be perfect, and she was certain all the attendees would have a marvelous time. And besides all that, this would be a perfect way to celebrate her husband's return to the Capitol! It had been weeks since Arturas had any time off to spend at home. Surely he'd be delighted by the fanfare and revelry.

The invitations stated that the party began promptly at 6:30, to bring an appetite, and be ready to dance. The attendees were instructed to dress in costume, to participate in the role-reversal theme of Saturnalia. Capitolites were to dress as Tributes while the Tributes were to dress in the most outlandish Capitol fashions imaginable. Jennifer herself was wearing a replica of the District 2 space costume, bedazzled and covered in crystals, for an extra glamorous kick, while her stoic husband sat at his table with his politician friends, dressed in an ice skating costume, a throwback to Arena 11. Clearly he had business to attend to, so it would be up to her to see to the party.

She made her way toward the entrance and prepared to greet everyone.

Comments

[gardienne]

"I don't know I am bird or fairy, or anything so pleasant." Eponine replied, awkwardly, not quite meeting Grantaire's gaze. "The devil in disguise, I should think. But Sir," She laid her own hand on his chest, running over the fine material of the waistcoat with delicate fingers, "you ought not to come so close to me. I shouldn't like you to be in as much trouble as me, and you will be, you know? They'll execute you as well as I." There wasn't fear in her eyes, but sadness. Sadness because she could perhaps be happy with Grantaire, but if it meant him getting hurt, she couldn't do it.

[permets_tu]

"That is a grim assessment," he replied, surprised by her ominous claim, his own expression clouding. He spent a moment in silence, looking at her. She was a peculiar little thing, troubled and small, more sparrow than peacock. He did not know what to do with it, hardly knew if he wanted to do anything about it. But she was a creature of Paris, that wild, simple and often ugly underbelly. In Eponine there was an honesty. In her, with her trousseau of terrible tales, he felt validated.

She was their unavoidable fate.

"Pretty disguise, little devil." He stroked her cheek, unblemished by the mark, shrugging.

"Leading me to the razor, are you? We French have made a neat spectacle of execution. Enlightenment! we cry, and raise our platform of equality. Stand tall Citizen, and be reduced to the sum of your parts. Two arms, two legs, one heart, one head, ah, think me stupid? Nix that last bit, 'tis not needed. Are they so good at it here? Ach, I do not care, terrible topic, why are we talking about it?

"In truth, I'd rather dance."

[gardienne]

"And it is people who think that I talk nonsense. I don't know how they can listen to the likes of you for an age." Eponine chuckled suddenly, the melancholy gone from her eyes, from the ache of her mouth, and all at once, she perhaps looked as youthful as she ought. She loved that he seemed to find her beautiful: her own hand rose, and she mimicked his gesture, stopping short of touching, caressing empty air.

"I have been learning how to dance, you know? I always wanted to know, proper. Me and 'Zelma used to waltz together, but always with a man. And how lovely to do so with a man who knows what to dance with me. Can we? I shall let you lead!"

[permets_tu]

"We are all speaking nonsense, consider that some of us do it more honestly than others." She is nice to look at when she smiles, even nicer now without the scar and there is a pleasing roundness to her face, she is pretty. The banishment of her melancholy allows him to ignore his own, it would be easy to sink into the horror that lingers on the edge of his attention, memories of the Arena, but she laughs and he delays an inevitable feeling. He took her hand, leading her to some free space on the floor.

"Let me!" he repeats and laughs at her nerve. Her audacity is as charming as ever. His body falls easily into position, urging her to reflect his frame. "I appreciate the permission, charitable lady."